#port maw

[grayrazor]

Space Fortresses. Armored Battle Planetoids. War Worlds.

#young justice #dc comics #warworld #warhammer 40000 #battlefleet gothic #port maw #transformers #transformers generation 2 #legend of the galactic heroes #die neue these #Geiersburg Fortress #star wars #rogue one #death star

[the-ace-with-spades]

I need a fic where Ghost and Soap are on the run but like, framed and on the run.

They're on an assignment, just the two of them, to co-lead a team for the prevention of assassination for some big-name politician (dunno, I like to think this would happen either in usa or in the uk...) and it's all done and they're about to pack their shit and go back to base when Soap gets an encrypted call from Price to tell him that a video of Ghost killing the same big-name politician is on the telly

It's not Ghost, obviously, but it's someone of Ghost's posture, in Ghost's gear and Ghost's mask.

Also obviously, Soap doesn't believe it.

They get surrounded pretty fast by the local SWAT-like team and Soap makes Ghost use him as a hostage so they can escape with a minimal amount of maiming -- Soap is pretty sure Ghost could escape on his own, but it'd be a bloody mess that would follow him after he was proven to be framed.

Of course, Ghost tries to get Soap to leave once they're out of the danger zone. He does not.

Cue Ghost and Soap on the run while Price, Gaz and Lasewell try to find out who is framing him.

Simon's existence was erased so much that there are no pictures of him anywhere so instead, his APB has a sketch and a description. Problem is, the scars on his face were included, and way too characteristic to miss them (whether it's the glasgow smile or other scars, dunno, but you get my point). At first, it's really hard to move around because scars/mask + Simon being like 6'4 and built like a tank scream 'notice me'. Simon grows out a beard - it's red-ish blond colour so he ends up dying his hair red too. He absolutely doesn't care but Soap mourns because he's barely started being able to see Simon's face and hair and now it's all changed up.

Soap doesn't have an APB at first, but after a couple of days he is named as complicit (because he's seen helping Ghost run) and his photo is out. He has to shave the mohawk because it's too eye-catching (he's fucking bald and he hates it). He has to rein in his accent because he is described as glasgowian scottish. He can't call his maw so he sends her a random postcard he picked up a few towns ago and sends a short and cryptic message, hoping she believes he's not a terrorist.

Soap also finds out Ghost knows way too many shady people and knows way too easily where to look for even more shady people if he needs something the former people don't have. They steal shit out of necessity, often clothes and food, but sometimes they pickpocket cards and wallets. Some days they sleep in the car, some days they stop at questionable motels or hostels, and some days they don't sleep at all. They have burner phones but don't contact Price at all.

There would be a mandatory 'taking care of each others' wounds' scene (no bandages, please, you rarely use bandages in healthcare nowadays) after a dangerous run-in, a mandatory 'pretend to be a couple to lose the trail' and after that, an awkward 'there was only one bed' scene where things happen for the first time and they have a sloppy handjob or two.

They're probably trying to escape the country but can't do it via air because of the APBs and have to make their way to some shady port and even shadier ferry or cargo ship that won't run their fake passports in the system if they pay well enough.

Ghost is surprising Soap once again with an off-shore bank account and a knowledge of whichever country they're in's language. They move somewhere less crowded but not small enough that two Brits would be weird. Some people refer to Ghost as Soap's husband.

Weeks or months go by.

"What if they can't prove I didn't do it?"

"You faked your death once, love, I think you can do it twice."

#ghostsoap #ghoap #cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #q

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Ryuunosuke Akutagawa (self aware)

Self-Aware! Akutagawa Ryunosuke x GN! Reader

Warning: Yandere. Hints of stalking. OOC. Spoilers for "Dazai Osamu and Dark Era", "Dazai Osamu's entrance exam", Port Mafia arc, The Guild arc, Akutagawa's past. Menthions of mutilation. English is my second language.

Becoming self-aware

🧥 Ryunosuke Akutagawa was a Black-Fanged Hellhound. He is ready to commit heinous crimes for Port Mafia sake.

🧥 Ryunosuke Akutagawa was Ability User of Destruction and Disaster. Rashomon will tear anything and anyone by his command.

🧥 Ryunosuke Akutagawa is an Apostle of Calamity and Despair. He will earn Dazai's approval, no matter what.

🧥 Ryunosuke Akutagawa isn't real. The moment, he realized it, felt like Rashomon sank its fangs in its Master's soul, shredding every emotion he ever had.

🧥 But, the worst thing was, that his reasons for living was shredded alongside his emotions.

🧥 Akutagawa is strong. He trained to be that stronger. But, was his strength a result of his training? Or, he was created to be that strong? And, no matter what, he won't be stronger or weaker than his current level?

🧥 Akutagawa is loyal to Port Mafia. But, has his actions ever benefit Port Mafia? Or, no matter what he did, Port Mafia will exist, and his missions will end in success, even if he stayed in one please, without weapons and Rashomon?

🧥 Akutagawa was seeking Dazai's approval. But... Was he even created to be someone, who Dazai will accept? Or it was his destiny, to be a failure in Dazai's eyes?

🧥 Was Dazai-san even real?;

🧥 Akutagawa was on edge. He wanted answers, he wanted stability. He wanted to tear someone apart.

🧥 But he won't disobey Boss's orders. Mori orders them to find any information they can find.

🧥 Mori was real. Akutagawa choose to follow that order. Akutagawa knew, that, if he refused, it will make a difference.

🧥 Higuichi and Akutagawa were patrolling Yokohama together. That's how they saw The Guild's liner. And Guild leader, talking about not being real with old man with white beard.

🧥 Others also brought news. About Rats, Government, Hunting Dogs. And ADA. They were real. They also could do anything. And it will make a difference.

🧥 The difference wasn't big. At least, it was something.

🧥 And then, one day, he feels an entity's gaze on him.

______

Looking

Observing

It looked at them, like they were circus animals.

It was weak.

It was hiding far away from them.

Akutagawa spent hours, trying to tear through space. Trying to bring It to them. Trying to get to It.

For hours Rashomon's maw destroyed anything, that was on its way. For hours Rashomon's claws tear through walls and pavement.

And there was Gin.

His sister was acting strange.

Every morning, after waking up, she was writing pages and pages in notebook.

She doesn't show them to Akutagawa.

Only ones he saw one of the pages.

"How their day was"

One time, Akutagawa met Dazai during one of his countless tries to get to the Entity. To tear its throat!

Akutagawa's voice was firm.

"Should I make them suffer?"

Dazai's answer was emotionless.

"You had to get in line."

Was it a blessing? An order? Akutagawa will honor it nevertheless.

But one day, time reset.

And he, once again, was a sixteen-year-old boy, who killed Mimic's solder

And made Dazai-san angry.

_______

When they start feeling your presence

🧥 When Dazai-san pointed a gun on Akutagawa, he was ready. He was ready to use Rashomon as a shield. By his own free will.

🧥 But he couldn't.

🧥 He couldn't use it as he wants.

🧥 Only after the shot he finally managed to create a shield.

🧥 Did It mess with his ability? How dare it weak coward do something to him?

🧥 It will pay...

🧥 But why Dazai-san was so silent?

🧥 And then came the voice.

_____

"effective" "harsh" "other way"

"Strong" "deserved to [|||||||||||||||||]"

Akutagawa feels a wave of warmth. For one moment, he felt completely safe. Like nothing could ever hurt him again.

'Was it mocking him? Pitting him?'

Akutagawa looked around, trying to find the speaker. But, no one was here.

Was it the one, who was talking?

And Dazai-san looked like he was listening to it.

Akutagawa's voice sounded urgent.

"Where is it? Dazai-san, I can hear it. I am sure, this time, I will tear them apart..."

Dazai raises his hand.

His voice was uncharacteristically soft.

"No. You will wait. You won't seek them. Right now, you will only listen to their voice. Their words. And pay attention to their emotions."

_______

🧥 Dazai left without explaining anything. Akutagawa was left alone.

🧥 It... They left with Dazai.

🧥 Emotions? Words? Voice? The couple of words? Full of pity?

🧥 Or not?

🧥 Akutagawa closed his eyes. Remembering.

🧥 They didn't feel pity. It was... respect?

🧥 Akutagawa can't be sure. He needs to hear more.

_____

🧥 Next time he heard them was during clash with Mimic.

🧥 Still, no full sentences.

"Akutagawa" "strong" "hard-working"

🧥 But, now, Akutagawa can tell for sure, that it was respect.

🧥 Fight with Mimic was the same as previous time. Except one thing.

🧥 When Gide arrived, he didn't pay any attention to Akutagawa or anyone else. He was trying to shoot something invisible.

🧥 Sakunosuke Oda arrived again. He saved Akutagawa again.

🧥 And said something strange. But, Akutagawa didn't think too much about it.

"Hold tight, Blobby! We can't let Gide shoot you!"

🧥 Few days later, time resets again.

🧥 Akutagawa, once again, was trying to kill taxi driver. And again was defeated by Doppo Kunikida.

"Akutagawa [|||||||||||||] was awesome!"

🧥 The Voice didn't mock him. Still, only respect.

🧥 When he deals with the ability user, that controlled numbers, Akutagawa heard quiet

"Deserved."

from the voice.

🧥 And time resets again.

🧥 Akutagawa once again was trying to capture man-tiger.

🧥 And strange Light Blob was floating above man-tiger.

_____

Few days later, Mori Ougai and Fukuzawa Yukichi were discussing the creation of a Union. Union, to find a way to Their Guiding Light's world. To them.

Akutagawa feels conflicted.

Gin seems happy. She mentioned, that she can't wait to meet them.

Dazai-san seems happy. Often, he was talking to the air. Laughing. Joking.

And looking at something with so much warmth and... love?

Dazai-san was asking about the Voice. And his feelings towards them.

Akutagawa was honest.

"They are a simple person. I don't hate them anymore. But, I don't like them either."

Akutagawa just can't put his finger on it. He understands, why they want to get to the real world. But why so many people want to meet them? The Guiding Light?

He gets his answers one day.

_____

🧥 Akutagawa just follows Mori's orders. Gave a message to The Guild. Don't attack anyone.

🧥 Hawthorne and Mitchell were on their guard, but, nevertheless, promise to tell Fitzgerald about union proposition. This time, they were unhsrmed.

🧥 And on his way back to ADA/Port Mafia base, time reset again.

🧥 And he was a forteen-year-old boy from the slums.

_________

He was standing before Dazai-san like all this years ago.

But, he wasn't looking at him.

Right before Dazai-san was standing a figure, made of light. Same light, that Little Light was made of.

And they talked. Akutagawa heard sobs. And a wave of warmth

"poor" "friends" "strength"

"Akutagawa, I respect you. You are powerful. You had to become powerful. For yourself. For your friends. And you are powerful. You don't need anyone's acceptance. The words will never take away your power."

Akutagawa feels, how light figure hugged him.

[In reality, you run your fingers up and down manga page]

A flood of emotions...

Respect. Acceptance. Proud

Akutagawa feels, like he was in presence of the most important human in entire planet. Important for him. For everyone.

He finally got it. Why everyone love you.

Now, he was like them.

He wanted to protect them.

_______

🧥 Dazai-san start training him and Atsushi in working in pair.

🧥 So they can protect Dear Guiding Light.

🧥 Akutagawa was ready to train every minute of his life.

🧥 Making sure, that you are safe.

🧥 You and your happiness became his reason to live on.

And then, one day, the purple moon shined above Yokohama.

_______

When you installed BSD Mayoi Inu Kaikitan

🧥 Akutagawa was first one, who gave you an Awakening materials, so you can have his UR card.

"Akutagawa, I love Leader Skill of your card!"

"Wow! So much damage! Are real Rashomon that powerful?"

"Akutagawa's Detective card are so awesome!"

🧥 Akutagawa gather materials by himself. Now Armory in Port Mafia base are on Max Level.

🧥 Because of his interface, Armory now gave materials for UR card awakening.

🧥 Akutagawa loves 'watching' movies with you and Gin. He and Gin will secretly watch videos you watch.

🧥 Ready to order Rashomon to chew through space to get him on your doorstep.

🧥 Will do anything, to keep smile on your face. To keep you protected. To destroy your enemies.

🧥 Akutagawa is a Black-Fanged Hellhound, Ability User of Destruction and Disaster, Apostle of Calamity and Despair.

🧥And you are his reason to live.

_____

You got another note from BSD Mayoi Inu Kaikitan.

From Akutagawa. With Awakening materials for his Summer card.

And a note.

"[Y/N]. Be careful. I don't want anything happen to you. Please, don't worry about anything. You are under my protection, remember that. Akutagawa Ryunosuke"

You smiled and open one of the Akutagawa cards, petting his chibi.

"I will be careful, I promise, Akutagawa. Thanks for worrying about me."

You didn't notice, that Akutagawa's eyes closed in bliss.

#self-awarebsd #self-awareau #bungou stray dogs au #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd anime #bsd x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #yandere #akutagawa ryunosuke x reader #bsd akutagawa #bungo stray dogs akutagawa #akutagawa x reader #akutagawa x you #Self-Aware Ryunosuke Akutagawa

[vecnawrites]

Someone spread the rumor that Emerald's cum tastes like Mint-Chocolate ice cream. Of course Nora had to investigate those huge, full, low hanging chocolaty cum tanks to see for herself. No matter how much she needed to snort and slobber over them.

Emerald’s red eyes gazed around in panic as she tried to make sure that no one noticed what was happening below the desk. Fortunately, it was Port’s class, so hardly anyone was awake, let alone paying attention to what was happening between her legs.

She didn’t know why, but the energetic (or potentially psychotic, she wasn’t sure) hammer wielder was underneath the desk, between her legs (that she had spread) and rubbing her face against her swollen balls, having yanked off her underwear beforehand.

Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks as the orange haired girl began to lick her heavy balls, sniffing them deeply, the sounds thankfully being masked by the blowhard teacher’s long winded stories about himself.

As two small but powerful hands came up and began to rub and gently squeeze her nuts, Emerald bit the inside of her cheek to fight the moans that she wanted to release, wondering why this was happening, even if she did appreciate her backed up balls receiving some loving.

She choked down the gasp as her heavy balls were pulled into a hungry maw, sucked and licked on, teased and tormented. She couldn’t cum, she couldn’t cum!

~

Nora couldn’t believe the bounty that she was going to get, and was going to have to do something really nice for Licorice for letting her know this! Mint-Chocolate Ice Cream was her favorite next to Maple, and for someone’s cum to taste exactly like it? Well, Emerald had found herself an unexpected new friend for life!

Rubbing her nose against the heavy mounds, she huffed the salty scent of her sweat and natural musky aroma, filling her lungs and making her wiggle in place, her tongue slipping through her lips and beginning to lap at the fat orbs, teasing them and making them churn, wanting to make the payoff she got as big as possible. She hadn’t had Mint-Chocolate Ice Cream in so long…

~

Hidden by her semblance, Neo giggled as she recorded the whole thing, making sure to get Emerald’s desperation as well as Nora’s slutty exuberance as she worked over the green haired girl’s balls, taking her advice to take her time and tease her to ensure that she got the biggest amount of cum possible.

And with at least forty five minutes left in the class, she could have a fun video to send to Emerald tonight...provided she didn’t blow and expose herself to the entire class and be punished~

That would be terrible, wouldn’t it~?

#Emerald Sustrai #Nora Valkyrie #Ball Worship #Musk #Public Exposure #Semblance Use

[evolutionsvoid]

The great seas bear many gifts, yet are home to many dangers. The tales carved upon ivory speak of the treachery of the waters and of the beasts that lurk within it. It is no wonder that the ships of wood and bone set sail with so many blades and harpoons, as they either expect to encounter these monsters or instead are seeking them. Some of the greatest blessings that can be found in these waters are pulled from the bodies and guts of these immense beasts, making for fine materials or fetching high prices back on land. Life upon the sea is dangerous, but many do find a living out there. For them, it is crucial to know the great leviathans that dwell in the depths, and know how to deter them or best them when they rise to the surface. This determines if their ship will return to port intact, or will join the horrid beasts below in the dark depths. 

Of the creatures of the ocean, there is no doubt that the Bowel Serpent is the most foul of them. A great worm that writhes through the depths, swallowing prey in a gaping toothless maw. Belching from their mouths are clouds of filth and rot, filling the waters with the taste and smell of death. Scavengers and hungry predators arrive to feed on this chum, only to be sucked into the waiting maw. Though their length is impressive and their reek terrible, Bowel Serpents are not apexes of these waters. Other leviathans see their boneless flesh as a fine meal, and seek to sink their teeth in. To ward off attackers, these serpents discharge large clouds of waste and putrid slime, blinding foes and choking their gills. This smokescreen gives time for the worm to slink away, or perhaps fight back with powerful crushing coils. At times, they flee to the surface, where their presence is known far and wide by the horrid odor they release. Spouts of noxious gas belch from their blowholes, driving away some animals while drawing in others who mistake it for a rotten carcass. For whaling ships, this wretched reek is the sign of a hunt, and they aim their ships straight for the source. Ivory harpoons and bony hooks are launched towards its soft flesh, hooking in and preventing escape. A long fight will go down, with the hopes that the many wounds will bring this leviathan down eventually. Yellowflame is kept away from these battles, in fear that it will ignite internal gases and cause the whole worm to explode, taking the entire crew with it. 

From these battles, a valuable haul of ambergris, oil, blubber and hide is won. Many parts of this rotting worm make for excellent fuel, a fine replacement of Yellow Bile when on long journeys at sea. Their skin is good for clothing and equipment, either repelling liquid or keeping it in where they want it. The meat, while plentiful, is one that will make any sailor or fisher groan. Its horrible smell and pungent taste is made only worse by the fact that it is very much edible. While most would prefer to use it as chum, it is an undesired product that few on land would purchase, thus ship captains use it as cheap food to feed the crew. Why waste the good meat that could be sold, when there are stores of useless flesh that could fill the crew's bellies? Needless to say, "worm stew" or "gut steaks" are despised by sea folk as a whole, but when the other option is starving, these meals are choked down with grumbles and swigs of potent ales. 

While Bowel Serpents are infamous for their terrible stench, land folk like to joke that these beasts are used for perfume aboard whaling ships. As they say, Bowel Serpent odor is noxious and overpowering, but it sure beats the smell that comes off the crew when they are at sea for months on end.           

-----------------------------------------------

"Bowel Serpent"

Hey, it's not my fault that there are old drawings of sea serpents that look like intestines! What was I supposed to do? Ignore them? Impossible!

#sea serpent #serpent #intestine #monster #creature #sea monster #art #drawing #fall of ichor

[weixuldo]

Allow me// ch 13

Vader x Reader

a/n: so this one is kinda short but is necessary for the plot!! we’ll have some vader and reader interactions in the next chapter!!! :) ty for the support!!!

Vader has been gone longer than anticipated…

warnings: cursing, angst, harm, body horror?, cannon typical violence

_____________________

You walked down the brightly lit corridor with a small transport droid behind you; it carried your tool bag and some parts that had to be specially ordered to fix one of the hyper speed engines. 

Once you reached your destination you swiped your security badge and the deep belly of the ship opened its maw to you. The machinery and technology that allowed the vessel to operate was all at the tip of your fingers. 

You had always wanted to come down here and surprisingly you hadn’t ever had a reason to, but before Vader left to meet with his master he noticed the engines had been running at lower parsecs than usual and asked you to take a look. 

The Executor had been docked on Hoth so that you could inspect and repair the engines (otherwise you would be vaporized if you attempted to inspect them while they ran).

You had actually never been to the icy planet and were excited to see a few sights before going back into space. Vader told you that he would take you on a stroll when he got back- he knew how much you loved exploring new systems and biomes (a conversation of one of your many late night talks). 

Hopefully the meeting between Vader and the Emperor went well and you could debrief with V later today.

Earlier you had seen Palpatine’s ship go off to another system, so that seemed to be a good sign.

Though, you hadn’t heard from Vader yet- but it was common for you not to hear from him until later in the day- especially when you had a demanding task; so you didn’t think much of it.

___________________________

Vader’s mind was consumed with painful memories and the anguish his body was currently feeling as he laid on the burning shores of Mustafar.

His prosthetic ports ached and the flames licking at the metal didn't help the surviving skin that surrounded them. 

Half of him was just ready to give up- He had been in this same position before and chose to cling onto life, but what did that life provide him?

Days of pain and suffering in a suit that would be his coffin, mental anguish over the decisions he had made, manipulation from the man he was supposed to be working with… all he was here for was being a weapon of the empire. He didn’t matter. 

All of this re-lived pain because he aided his dead wife’s handmaiden (who knew that he was Anakin and told him Padme’s last words were ”there’s still good in him”).

He didn’t know if there was still good in him- if everytime he attempted to prove his wife’s last words true, he got punished; how would he go on trying to be good?

But on the other hand; why live if there was no good in him- why bring more suffering into the galaxy? 

In his moment of thought the bank of the river started sliding and he felt the heat intensifying by his legs. In defeat he closed his eyes; what else was there to live for?

The last time he was here, Padme was what kept him going. At the time he thought she was still alive and he needed her. He stayed alive for her, he dragged his mutilated body across the burning coals to get back to her. 

He remembered the pain he felt when he found out she had passed… he would not survive news like that again…

In that instance a burst of color flooded the nothingness of his closed eyes; beautiful greens, blues, and purples.

Soon the colors started forming images, images of you. Your smile, your hair, the adorable look on your face when you finished a big project, the look you gave him before falling asleep curled up to his side. 

You. 

He needed to get back to you.

In his panicked state he pushed you far from his mind; never would he want to associate suffering with you. But now he understood, you were his motivation.

His pillar of light, his guiding hand.

His eyes shot open when realized that was a double edged sword; yes, you were his reason to live, but he also knew that his master loved to manipulate him… and he would spare no soul who would give him more power. 

And now Vader wasn’t there to protect you.

As he slipped further down and the flames began to lick at his already burnt skin, his eyes widened and he gripped the gravely bank with all of his might. He was going to come home to you. 

He needed to get back, he needed to make sure Palpatine didn’t do anything drastic (the emperor already intervened in his previous relationship and he would not let that happen again). 

His desperation and worry soon became anger and pure rage- the thought of Palpatine laying a hand on you made Vader livid. 

After he made his grueling crawl up the scolding shores he wasn’t even thinking about his recovery time and procedures he would need done once he got back; all he could think about was making sure you were safe. 

_________________________________

You usually at least saw Vader once a day, even if for only a short period of time, so you were rightfully anxious when you hadn’t seen him in almost 48 hours.

No matter how much you tried to ignore it you couldn't help but worry about him; the other night he told you he had to meet his master, most likely under unfavorable circumstances…

Would the emperor have done something to him? He couldn’t have, Vader was his strongest, right?

Plus Palpatine left the other day…

Your brows knit together as you tried to fall asleep; why were you so worried?

Vader was a grown man who was more than capable of taking care of himself. You just needed to stop being “worst-case scenario”-

Wait. 

You sucked in a sharp breath when you realized that you couldn’t sense Vader’s force signature; the more you thought about it, you hadn’t felt it this whole time- you were too wrapped up in your work to notice. 

But, again… He was perfectly equipped to handle himself…yeah- no need to worry. 

No need.

…

…..

…….

As much as you wanted to believe what you were telling yourself, your gut told you something was wrong. And you’d be damned if you were just going to sit here and let that worry fester. 

You knew the Emperor was scheduled to come back aboard tomorrow morning to oversee a transport. You could act dumb and attempt to coax information out of him; It was definitely a lofty and irrational idea, but what else was there to do?

________________________________

The air was thick with dread and tension as you slowly made your way up to the loading dock with your helper droid that carried your tools. You pretended to tinker with one of the ventilator shafts until Palpatine was within your view. 

After a few shipments were packed and transported, you took a breath and headed towards the emperor. 

Only a few steps away and his sickening yellow eyes landed on you; in a panic you bowed to him and rushed out an apology. 

“Stand, my young friend” he spoke with a curious tone. 

You did as the sith asked and allowed him to examine your features. 

“What troubles you?” he asked, placing a wiry clawed hand on your back. You hold back a shiver. 

“I am one of Lord Vader’s mechanic’s and I have not received another task from him in a few days. I have finished all of my pending duties and I worry the Lord will become angry if he returns and I have not accomplished anything further” you spoke formally and as if you had no idea where he had gone. 

“I was debating whether or not to approach you. I know you are a very busy man, but I also know that you are my Lord’s superior, so you may have a more urgent task I can attend to- I would rather not putter around and waste the empire’s time”.

The hooded man smiled a toothy grin, “Ahh, young one- your ambition pleases me. I may have a task for you, but first what is the other question you wish to ask?”.

You did have another question, but you didn’t think you indicated that you had one.

“Oh, I was just wondering if you knew where my Lord went off to? It’s not like him to disappear without letting his staff know” (that wasn’t entirely true, but you might as well see what you can get out of the old man).

“I’m not sure where he’s gone off to, hopefully he will return to you soon. I can tell he means a great deal to you” the pale man creepily smiled before dismissing himself to attend to other matters. 

Shit. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything. 

_________________________

Vader groaned in pain as the mouse droid he just rewired began to fuse a random droid’s leg to his port; He needed to be able to walk somehow and this is the best he could do as of now. 

He knew it was going to hurt like hell when he would eventually have to get it seared off (He wouldn’t be able to get his new prosthetics on without getting this replacement leg off.)

Once he was relatively put together he prepared himself to hoist himself up. He winced at the pressure of his weight on the unfamiliar legs, but nevertheless, he pressed on.

He made his way through the dingy compound, looking for ways out and back to you. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a low level bounty hunter. Did this fool really think he could take Vader? 

Without any effort, Vader slammed the armed man against the opposite wall once he started to get too close.

If there was one, there were more, Vader needed to get out of here before a real threat came his way…

***

a/n: thanks for bearing with me through finals eeekkk sorry i’ve been on an atrocious upload schedule

taglist: @vadersassistant @sxoulohvn @khaleesihavilliard @kashasenpai i @darling-murdock @beautifulbearpolice @salvatoresister1 @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @blueninjablade3 @jujuba096 @missmannequin @jellydodger @mirastark @wyvernthekriger @duckyhowls @monada43 @lauriidoesstuff @vienettacream @ray-rook @itswhatever06 @ilovenielperry

#darth vader x reader #anakin x reader #darth vader #vader #anakin #sw darth vader #darth vader fic #star wars x reader #anakin x you #star wars #allow me #star wars comics #starwars x reader #starwars fanfic #darth vader x y/n #darth vader x you #darth vader fanfic #vader x reader

[mightymizora]

Night Eater

1.3k, PWP E rated, Default Durge/Enver Gortash. Thanks @todderwodders for the title for this thing I smashed out in an hour...

Read on Ao3

“I’m not even quite sure how this would work.”

The candlelight is waning and he feels drunk, even though he has only had a few glasses of the port from the reserve. It is late, perhaps that is why he feels giddy, and they have been smoking and talking of their plan for some hours now, a complicated miasma of intentions and inflections, of talents and of timing. Mayhaps that is why he feels like he may fall to the floor in a faint, despite his steadying hand on the back of the chair.

Or, perhaps, it is the vision of the Child of Bhaal on their knees before him.

His scales are shimmering in the lowlight, the deep red of his throat like a curtain of blood dripping from his maw, and Gortash cannot breathe for the sight of it. He feels the thrill of the sight settle heavy in his cock; his expensive silks do nothing to hide it, and he can see the bright red eyes of his… friend, as they gaze along the run of it before raising a clawed hand to stroke through gently.

“You do not strike me as an innocent, little Lord,” the man’s voice purrs gently, as one hand reaches to cup him through the fabric. His knees feel weak. “Surely you have done such things before.”

“I meant… ah! I meant more that…”

The Dark Urge raises his other hand and cuts through the fabric without a care, pulling him free roughly. “You mean you have not had my kind.”

“I thought there were no more of your kind.”

“Very clever.”

His enormous hand wraps around his cock with ease; he does not consider himself a small man, but in the firm grip of those hands that have split through stomachs, that have ripped heads from necks, he feels diminutive… vulnerable, even. The thought of it is obscene; he has torn and battled for his domination over this city, for his place as the Chosen of Bane. He has subjugated, ruled, monopolised the sweeping vermin of this place, and now this man is on his knees for him. It should feel like a victory. He is his, his pet, here to service his desires.

However, the grip on his cock is strong, the cool scale of his palm so smooth as it pumps him hard. He can see the claw on his thumb, the pointed horn on his chin and his fringe.

He can see his teeth.

“Can you even…” he begins to ask, letting out a small nervous huff of laughter at the ridiculous nature of it all. It was obscene, an obscene idea. He has a whole city of willing mouths to fuck, any number that he can spill deep inside for a matter of a coin or a favour promised. It does not need to carry the risk. It does not need to be dancing around teeth as sharp as knives and a wit twice as sharp again, a demi-god in all but formal crowning. He can find another dragonlike maw, if he wants, and not risk his soul, as well as his life.

For Bane can see into his heart, his mind. He can see what others cannot.

He can see what makes him hard as steel in the hand of the killer.

“So you have not taken your little pleasures in the hands of those who look like me,” the Dark Urge confirms, a strange smile strangled in his teeth. “But you were wrong to say there are no more of my kind. There has never been a creature like me.”

His hand stills for a moment, and Enver feels himself buck to find the friction again, eliciting a low hum of laughter from his captor. “You must be careful, Lord. Placing yourself in the hands of a killer. Desperate to thrust yourself into your destruction.”

“You are a man of control. Of restraint.”

“You know one me, Enver.”

He shudders at the intimacy of his name slithering out into the room. “I feel like we know each other well, friend.”

“Oh, friend.”

Gortash sucks in the air as a tongue slips from between the teeth of the Dark Urge, long and strong as a whip as it curls around his cockhead and squeezes before retracting. It is an extraordinary sensation, soft as velvet and strong as a chain.

“You know one me,” The Dark Urge repeats, squeezing his balls hard enough to make his knees go from under him. “You know your equal match, your confidante, friend Gortash.”

His other hand slips up from his cock to the sensitive skin above, and two clawed fingers press against the tender fleshy spot of hair. “You do not care to see my knife hand itch to split you from here…”

He pushes softly against the skin, twisting his claws into him mercilessly, causing him to moan loudly.

“...up to your mocking throat. I would take that voice from you, rip it from you and keep the instrument of it for my pleasure. I would split you in two, Gortash and…”

“And?” he asks, his voice hoarse. “Come, you must know that it is not so easy to shock me.”

“Your tone will get you in trouble some day.”

“So you tell me.”

So give me trouble, he wants to tell him. Twist your claws into me. Run your teeth along my flesh. Hold me down and take and take and- 

The tongue wraps around him again, twisting around him as The Dark Urge takes his other clawed hand to run the rest of his length in a quick pulse. His claws still dig into the flesh, and he dare not look too closely in the dying light to see if blood has been drawn.

He thinks he would be disappointed if it had not.

“Great beast on your knees for me,” he stutters, though he cannot stop the quiver in his voice. “Where you belong. My hound of war. My herald of death.”

The Dark Urge growls deeply, and he wonders what the vibration of that would feel like as he thrusts absently closer to those sharp and plentiful teeth before being pushed back by the claws in his abdomen. The tongue around his cock unfurls and wraps around again, counter-clockwise this time, the new sensation driving him close to the edge already.

He cannot spend himself so quickly. It would be an embarrassment, an affront, a weakness that showed how little control he had, even with the other man on his knees for him. He pushes himself against the claws again, looking up from the tantalising glow of the red eyes in a vain hope that it will stop him from-

The tongue squeezes harder and somehow feels like it is moving against itself, pulsing against his cock with such precision that his orgasm is ripped from him, and he looks down with equal horror and bliss as he watches ropes of seed hit the pearlescent skin, the tongue unravelling to lick away the dregs of it from his purple, abused cock.

The man stands, not waiting to clean his face. He looms above him close enough for the breath from his nostrils to heat his face.

“Small man. Petty little Lord. Mortal.”

Gortash can hear the desire in his voice, even before it is confirmed by The Dark Urge pinning him against the back of the chair. He can feel his erection press against his stomach like a blade.

“You can feel how you make me. You can hear how you make me. I will show that control which you prize. I will take my desire from you and I will spend it deep in another. Perhaps he will have your eyes. Your countenance.”

He presses closer, leaning down over him as he thrusts against Enver’s stomach absently. It is enough to make his damned cock stir anew.

“Perhaps there are no men like me,” he tells him, desire thick in his mouth.

“The city is made of men like you, Gortash.”

He leans up to lick his own spend from the edges of his mouth, salty and bitter. The Dark Urge purrs against him for a moment, nuzzling at him, before pulling away in a flash of movement.

“Stay,” he offers, but it is too late.

He is gone into darkness without another word.

#enver gortash #the dark urge #durgetash #bg3 #starting my year strong

[monstersandmaw]

March's Patreon-exclusive story is up on Patreon!

Preview:

Soldiers came to Caersands in the spring, when the roads were passable again after a hard winter winter, and the rumblings of war with the island nation of Farshoal were kicking off in earnest.

At first, it had proved exciting to have company after company of soldiers — archers, infantrymen, even a small centaur cavalry-archer unit pf bonded riders and centaurs, and, lastly, an aerial squad with heavy, armoured griffins and nimble flying drakes. But after they had eaten the large sea port almost out of provisions, and caused scene after scene by getting drunk and rowdy, either with the locals or with each other during their off-duty hours, and making work for law clerks like you who had to file and process all the charges, attitudes towards them in the town began to sour.

Nobility saw them as little more than ruffians, and the traders and townsfolk found them a nuisance.

Tensions with neighbouring Farshoal put everyone on edge, and as the summer drew on and there was no sign of either diplomacy or open war, things showed no sign of improving.

Halfway through copying out the last document on your long list for the day, you glanced up when the door to your employer’s study opened, and the tall, imposing dragonborn lawyer stepped out. His long, spined tail dragged on the floor, and his usually bright, flaming orange eyes had a distinct dullness to them.

“Sir?” you asked with concern, setting down your quill. The enchanted lamp that threw steady, unwavering light around the small chamber cast the scales of his pearlescent body into starker relief than usual, and made the hollows of his eyes look deeper despite the gemstone orange of his eyes. “Everything alright?”

“Hm? What? Oh, yes,” he sighed, startling a little, as though he’d forgotten his clerk would still be out there. “Yes,” he said again, and wafted a piece of paper held delicately between his clawed fingers in your direction. “This was among the cases put on my desk today. The minotaur who allegedly attacked a group of civilians… A sad affair, I think.”

You nodded. You’d read through the summary earlier. A huge minotaur — and a soldier in the Queen’s army — had apparently gone into some kind of berserker rage and attacked a group of noblemen late at night. He had claimed it had been in defence of someone else, but the noblemen all denied it, and they never found the person he’d claimed to have been protecting. He’d been taken into custody and locked up in a cell in Caersands Castle, awaiting trial. “You don’t normally take criminal cases,” you said to Master Embershard. “Why did this get sent your way? And why isn’t it being dealt with by the military courts?”

“There are no other lawyers available to take it at the moment, and since the nobles are the ones pressing charges, it’s a civilian matter. Gods, I wish it was a simple case of property law, but as it is, I feel obliged to take it since everyone else has their plates full. Something doesn’t add up about this one though. We’ll talk to him tomorrow morning.”

Master Embershard ran a clawed hand over his muzzle and shook his head. The long, ivory horns with their rare, rainbow sheen glinted in the light, and the myriad of pale spines that ran down between them to emerge again at his tail, caught the light of the enchanted lantern. You didn’t know exactly how old he was, but you knew that the older a dragonborn got, the more thorn-like spines they acquired, and the sharper they got. Master Embershard had a lot of spines.

You read through the documents again when you’d finished your day’s work, memorising the names of the nobles involved, and trying to imagine what meeting this supposedly violent minotaur would be like. You’d never met a minotaur. They tended to live in the grasslands much further to the east of the country, and you’d grown up in Caersands; the capital of the duchy that sat on the western coast of the continent. The non-humans you were familiar with were selkies and merfolk, the orcish merchant sailors and the sylvan elves who came to the port city to trade their rich, fruit liquors from the forests to the north. Minotaurs were often found with gnolls and werebears and even hardy satyrs in the gladiatorial rings in other cities, but Caersands had banned fighting pits a century ago.

After a night of broken sleep, you joined Master Embershard and walked with the aged dragonborn through the heaving streets, keeping a close eye on your small purse and large bag.

Two burly orcs stood in fine ducal livery, guarding the bridge to the castle with halberds flashing in the summer sun, but Master Embershard handled the necessary introductions, and you trailed into the castle after him.

Caersands Castle had stood on the promontory of the curved port town for time out of mind, with high-reaching, crenellated towers and a keep at its heart that was squat and solid as a boulder. The rich limestone walls were pitted and stained with age, and the salt in the air sent blood-red rust stains trailing down the masonry from the iron bars and torch brackets, the sight of which put you in a jumpy mood before you were even near the dungeons.

The air grew cold and dank as you descended, and Master Embershard took your arm for a little stability on the stairs as you followed behind the rancid-smelling jailer. The surly man had a mean glint to his eyes and he had the look of a man who enjoyed his position. Cries and moans drifted on the air and you tried not to think about the crimes that the people down here were accused of.

At the end of the row of festering, iron cells, the jailer paused by a solid, ironwood door and unlocked the rusty lock with a massive key. “Careful now, Master Lawyer,” he said to Embershard, leering at him through the gloom with greedy eyes. “This one’s more beast than anything. I’d advise you not to get too close, even though he’s chained.” And with that, he stepped aside and stalked past you, adding, “Shout if you need me, but you’ll have to make it loud. Sometimes I can’t hear over all the racket down here!” He left, cackling at his own poor humour, and the two of you turned your attention to the minotaur in the cell.

Your breath caught when you saw him.

A single shaft of greasy sunlight filtered down through a tiny arrow-slit high in the upper reaches of the wall, and a foul stench filled the air. It was only as you saw a slime of greenish water tracking down the wall that you realised the cell window was only just above the level of water in the moat that surrounded the castle, and you cast Master Embershard a horrified look. This was one of the cells that flooded in the winter.

Master Embershard bristled, his arthritic tail lashing back and forth, then he braced himself and stepped into the room.

As he entered, the minotaur looked up and your eyebrows rose. He was huge; bigger than any orc you’d ever laid eyes on, with colossal sloping shoulders and the dense, curly mane and convex muzzle of a bison. His horns reached outwards in two short, stocky half-moons, steel grey in the poor light of the cell. He was naked to the waist, showing a thick, dark pelt that covered his whole torso, and a short little tail rested on the filthy flagstones beside him. To cover his remaining dignity, a ragged loincloth of undyed linen had been fastened around his hips. To your shock, he was chained from both wrists to a ring in the floor, and around his thick hocks, two shackles had also been secured and bolted.

Horror dropped through you like cold moat-water and you faltered on the spot, though Master Embershard had his wits about him and cleared his throat. “Ajax Heathclear?”

Read the whole thing over on Patreon right now, or join as a free member to continue reading the free stories that would have gone up on Tumblr, as I'll be taking all my old work down as AI scraping is affecting my trust in Tumblr, shall we say?

#minotaur x human #male minotaur #male minotaur x human reader #minotaur x reader #exophilia #monster romance

[absurdthirst]

The Den {Alpha!Mando x Omega!F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, sex work, knotting, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, overstimulation, vaginal sex, knotting, cream pie, slight breeding kink, slight dom/sub dynamics 

Comments: There is a place amongst the glittering lights of Canto Bight. A place where Alphas can seek what they want, what they need. An Omega to use and care for when the need inside them grows to be unbearable. 

This is part of @clydesducktape ‘s The Moon in May Writing Challenge Week 4 (May 22-28) : Knot/Den

*** When reblogging or talking about Omegaverse, please remember that ‘a/b/o’ without the slash punctuation marks (/) is considered a slur for the Aboriginal people in Australia.

Moodboard by @wardenparker 

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

There are….places to seek relief. Services that catered to what he needs. When the dormant need inside of him flares to life, the need to nurture, to care for, to be obeyed becomes overwhelming. Often that last basic need was met when he finally brought a bounty to heel. When they stopped struggling and went with him, it didn't matter if it was because he was dragging their corpse behind him or not. 

Lately, the kid had soothed the need to be a caretaker, although it was much different with Grogu than it would be with an Omega. Now that he was gone though, back with his own kind, that gapping, mawing hole in his chest was obvious again. His Alpha pawing and pacing inside him, needing something, someone to take care of. 

It doesn’t hurt that it’s been a long time since he’s been in a rut. Oftentimes he was around other alphas, or betas. Omegas were a prize that are often kept far away from the dusty, skug hole planets that he had visited while on the run from the Empire or even when he wasn’t on the outs with the Guild. Now that he’s got a moment to breathe, to do more than just rush headlong into one dangerous situation after the other, his body decides that it’s time. 

He feels guilty thinking about visiting that one place on Canto Bight. It’s upscale, of course it would be, but it caters to…those needs. Omegas available for use, for a hefty price. It wasn’t that he wanted to use them, well he did, but not in the normal sense of a brothel. Alphas had a reputation of being big, broad and mean, which he could be, but they also cared for those under their protection. He was unmated, unmarked by an Omega or even a Beta so he would be responsible for the Omega he had paid for. 

Standing at the flight boards, he curses the need to use a star cruiser. Yes, they were opulent, comfortable, but he hates the fact that they are public. That he doesn’t have a moment to strip out of his armor or clean it. Sharing spaces with families and children that make him fully aware that he is missing a member of his clan. Also having to give up his weapons made him grit his teeth and despise the fact that he was talking to a boarding droid instead of a living being, sure that he could explain that they were the physical representation of his religion to them better than he could to a droid. 

He feels the need, the pull in the pit of his stomach, the way that his balls are heavy and aching. He has a day, maybe two, before he is constantly hard under his flight suit. Leaking out into his undergarments and needing to bury himself in a warm, pliant, yielding body. But more than that, to make them feel good. To make them keen and preen under his touch. To cry out the name that he gives them. 

Clenching his fist and sighing slightly under his helmet, Din walks up to the control panel and purchases a ticket to Canto Bight on the MPO-1400 Star Cruiser that is docked at the port. Code in hand, he walks over to the droid to secure his weapons. “You must secure-” 

“I am a Mandalorian.” He growls, his tone deeper and richer, causing the heads of several passing Omegas to turn at the stern tone of an Alpha. “Weapons are part of my religion.”

The droid doesn’t care about that, programmed to ensure that all the passengers that are embarking on this ship are unarmed when they come onboard. The droid motions to the box, “You must secure-”

“Yeah, I know.” Din interrupts again with a huff. Turning the key of the trunk and opening it so he can deposit the various weapons, bombs, whistling birds into the bottom. He’s irritated at how long it takes, but he wouldn’t try to hide any of the weapons. He knows the droid is scanning him. He locks the case and takes the ticket before he points at the bot. “I know everything there.” He warns before he turns and walks up the ramp to find his seat. 

The flight is uncomfortable, the heat inside his flight suit is starting to creep up. Making him want to squirm, to shift in the cushioned seat. Not from being uncomfortable with the plush perch, not just from the want to try to seek a small reprieve from the sweat that is starting to build up along his glands. Hook a finger under his cowl and pull it away from his neck, to allow the recycled air of the cruiser to cool his skin. 

He doesn’t. Mandalorians rarely show fatigue or injury or even discomfort while they are in public. The image they portray is a large part of their success as bounty hunters. The fear of their reputations helps bring in many quarries that do not want a Mandalorian hunting them down. So he doesn’t, instead he sits, ramrod straight and imagines the Omega and what he will do. 

Canto Bight is flashy, fancy. Something to be had for everyone looking for a vice. From the farrier races, to noisy, blinking slot machines or the smokey serious back gambling tables, it was made for people who want. There are brothels where every manner of creature could be found in exchange for coins. An hour, or even a night bought while you could indulge in whatever sexual fantasy that could be imagined.  

The Den is where Mando steadily makes his way towards. The retrieval of his weapons had helped, eased some of the anxiety that had ridden just below the surface and fused with the needs of his Alpha. Now that they were back on his body, every piece in its proper place, the twitching of his cock has him stalking silently towards the elaborate scrolling sign that beckons Alphas to come and spend their coins. 

The scent gets stronger as he gets closer. Cloying and filling the air, temping all the lone Alphas that wander the streets in look of something to do, beckoning them to come inside and find which Omega had made their cock stir and their inner Alpha purr with need. His cock hardens underneath his own flight suit, pressing against the seam as he gets closer. Inhaling the spicy aroma of one Omega more than most, his Alpha already choosing that one, pleased with her pheromones. 

He’s never comfortable in places like these. Not completely. The stink of too many Alphas in one place makes his nose curl under his helmet, the dominant portion of his Alpha rearing his head and making him want to pull his blaster. He won't though. There are rules. Any Alpha who challenges another in the doors of The Den will be permanently banned from all of the establishments around the galaxy. The loss of easy access to Omegas was too great to risk a show of testosterone to most. 

Instead he walks up to the counter, aware that his own pheromones are starting to waft from under the heavy layers of his bekar and clothing. Indicating to everyone nearby that he was nearing a rut and seeking. His hand comes up, not for his blaster, but to tap the bell, a small tinkling sound that seems out of place considering the moan that is drifting down from a room upstairs. 

A small, blue skinned Twi’lek comes out, taking a deep breath and smirking when she smells him. “Need a chip, Mando?” She asks, reaching up and stroking her lekku, watching him with something that could only be described as hunger. She was a Beta but her nostrils flare and she leans in. “Are you sure  you want a ‘mega?” She asks. “I’ve always wanted to try a Mandalorian.”

Instead of answering, Din reaches down and pulls the right number of credits out of the pouch from his belt and lays them on the counter. Making her grin turn into a frown and she hisses as she snatches up the credits and slaps down a large silver disc. “I didn’t want a stinking Alpha anyway.” She snarks before she turns away and disappears beyond the beaded curtain again. 

Din grunts, leather gloves reaching out and picking up the disc, palming it as he turns and starts making his way towards the rooms. The disc would be placed in the slot in the door of whatever Omega’s room he chose, showing that they were occupied and unavailable to any other Alphas. It helped them stay organized and allowed the Alpha to seek whichever Omega had their scent caught in the Alpha’s nose. 

His nose guides him, the scent tantalizes him, making him yearn to rip his helmet off and press his nose against the Omega’s scent gland and inhale deeply. Getting stronger as he walks down the hall, noting discs in the door and he hopes that whoever the scent belongs to isn’t taken. It doesn’t seem like it. The pheromones that are teasing his Alpha are not pleasured, not active. Just the mellow scent of someone who is bored, waiting. He can change that. 

The door is red. A name scrolled on it above the rules that are clearly listed: No Marking, No Mating, No Breeding, next to the disc holder. Empty. Din doesn’t hesitate, sliding his disc into the slot and knocks on the door. Shifting slightly when he hears shuffling behind the door, fists at his side curling with need. 

When the door opens, the waft of your scent flows under the helmet, nearly making him growl in anticipation. Cock hardening even more under the material of his flight suit and the normally soft material itching at his skin, begging him to strip down and press his overheated body to yours. 

It’s a long misconstrued belief that only Omegas are needy. They are the ones that have to have an Alpha fill them up. That their very nature makes them submissive. Din knows that’s not exactly true. During a rut, an Alpha needs his Omega. Needs to be buried inside the warmth of their body and praise them for how well they are accepting of them. Needs to nurture and soothe the need inside them and protect them. 

You are beautiful, your eyes widening when you see him in front of you, although your pheromones don’t change. You are not scared of him, although your pulse does pick up slightly. It’s not his Alpha that senses that, but the scanners inside his helmet. 

“Alpha.” You look at him from head to toe, all covered in fabric and beskar, weapons hanging from his belt. Biting your lip when you smell the need and attraction pouring off the faceless Alpha. You wonder if he will take off any of the layers or if you are going to be used while you never feel anything but his cock on your skin. “Come in.” 

He exhales softly, relieved that he is being invited into your den, your nest. You have the option of rejecting any Alpha you choose. That is a part of the rules that are etched into the door and all must obey them. Nodding, he watches you back away and open the door wider, urging him to enter your space. 

There are thousands of lights in your room, soft, gently casting an intimate glow over the silken sheets and soft bedding that makes up the majority of the room. The dying scent of previous Alpha’s in this space is muted with the overwhelming scent of you. 

The click of the lock makes him turn his head, sensing that you are behind him after closing the door. Looking around to spot a table where he will be free to remove his armor. Needing to shed the layers that are covering him and he quickly strides over to it. “What is your name, Omega?” He asks, even if he knows it. It’s written on the door, but he wants to hear more of your voice, hear you say it before he tells you his own. 

Your voice is delicious, making his spine tingle as you answer him. Giving him your name in a clear tone that has his cock twitching as he imagines what it will sound like breathless, full of him. “My name is Din.” He tells you, removing his chestplate and back plate and setting them down respectfully. Curassis came next, followed by his pauldrons and gauntlets. Turning towards you as he peels his gloves off one by one to reveal the first of his skin you will see. “You can call me Din or Alpha.” He tells you. “Whatever makes you comfortable.” 

Your eyes are on him, watching him strip down and it makes his blood spike even more. You’ve accepted him, the scent of you changing and making his nostrils flare as he inhales the sweet, alluring pheromones that you are giving off. Signaling that you want to touch him, having him touch you. “Din.” You murmur softly, testing the name on your tongue and his Alpha leaps in his chest, clamoring to claim you now. 

“Omega.” He growls softly, making your eyes drift up from his hands to center on the dark glass of his visor. Seemingly staring into his helmet and his eyes. “Undress.” He orders, although there is a thread of neediness in his tone, the urgency of his Alpha to have you yield to him even more. To give yourself over to him to pleasure you. 

You nod, reaching for the ties of your robe. You don’t wear much, never seeing a need to keep much more than a soft silk robe over your body. Happy to drop it to the floor and stand before this Alpha nude. Smelling the need that is filling the air and you wonder if he will be rougher at first, it seems as if it has been some time since his last rut. 

He feels his chest tighten, his cock hardens even more at the sight of your nude body. Luscious and soft looking. He will spend hours caressing and touching you. Learning what makes you purr and cry out in exquisite pleasure. What glands make you whimper when he presses his tongue against them. How you taste directly from the source. He reaches for his helmet, unlocking it with a tiny hiss, lifting it off his head so he can smell you better, see you clearer without the HUD. He had never removed his helmet before during a rut and it had been nearly painful, unable to taste. Since he has already been deemed Mandalorian no longer, he was going to take advantage of this rut. Allow himself this tiny bit of pleasure before he starts to redeem himself. 

He’s handsome, you note as you watch his eyes meet yours. He’s expressive, his face a mix of lust and unsurity. As if he didn’t often expose himself. Instead of calling attention to it, you walk over to your nest. Large and comfortable with multiple fabrics and bedding layered for a soft place to curl up, to connect. Your nest was essential to your space, as much as the lights that twinkled overhead and reminded you of the view from a transparisteel of a ship as you careened through hyperspace. Climbing inside, you stretch out, giving him a view of your body as your pheromones signal that you are ready. “Alpha. Din.” You murmur softly. “I need you here with me.”

It makes him eager to finish stripping off the layers. Unwinding the cowl that is around his neck, tossing it over the beskar and reaching for the thick padding that the armor attaches to. Pulling it off until he is in a long shirt and pants, boot toed off. “What are your limits, Omega?” He demands, knowing that he must abide by your wants. A good Alpha nurtures pleasure, even when it’s tinged with pain. 

You blink, surprised that he would ask that. It was rare that Alphas asked that, believing that the rules that were listed on the door were the only limits that were to be had inside your nest. You were rarely mistreated, the reputation of The Den was too well known to risk it. “I don’t really have any.” You murmur. 

“Can I knot you?” Your cunt clenches at the low, raspy words, still surprised that he is asking. Satisfaction that this man, this Alpha, has come to your den floods your entire body. On the door, there is not a rule about knotting, but he is asking anyway. Biting your lip, you watch as his shirt comes off over his head, revealing a chest that is littered with scars before he starts to push his pants down, the large cock bobbing free. The head is nearly purple, leaking profusely and jutting up proudly and curving towards his belly. 

He will be a pleasure to take, to have knot you and your cunt clenches again, another wave of desperate arousal pouring off of him as your eyes devour his cock and make it twitch. “Yes, Alpha.” He twitches again, jerking violently as he stands under your perusal of his body, waiting.  Apparently waiting for an invitation into your nest. 

Din watches you, the cool air of the room feeling exquisite on his skin. Calming the raging fever inside his blood, his Alpha demanding that he touch you. Still he waits, watching until you lift a hand and crook your finger. Making him leap forward and crawl carefully into the positioned cushions and bedding of your nest, groaning at the way your scent wraps around him. Fills his nostrils and his head with nothing but the Omega in front of him. 

“‘M gonna take care of you, ‘mega.” He promises thickly, hands starting at your ankles and starting to map your skin with a touch that is surprisingly gentle. Soft from the thick leather gloves that cover his hands, the only calluses are not dry and cracking, just thicker skin where he grips the gun that is rarely off his hip. Sliding over your knees and brushing behind them, noting that you whimper slightly when he touches the scent gland there. 

Often the idea of an Alpha was that they were brutal. Taking what they want with no care or regard for anyone else. Bullies by their designation and the top of the hierarchy in the social structures that had developed. Free to do whatever they wished and only a more powerful Alpha could curb them. Din knew that was probably true for some. He had been in the outer rims long enough that he knew there was cruelty among all designations. He had seen it among Betas, Alphas, there was even an Omega who was shockingly brutal. 

However, a true Alpha was one that would keep to provide, to nurture pleasure and foster the wellbeing of the partner they were with. He protected those under him, cared for them, and satisfied them. It was what gave him the most pleasure and soothed the Alpha inside him. 

Lips touch your skin, making him groan and his cock leaks again with another lovely little bead of precum. He loved taste, obsessed with it since he normally did not spend much time with his helmet off while eating. View it as a necessity rather than a pleasure, but this….this is pleasure. Your skin tastes like you smell. Heady and tangy with a touch of salt. Making him groan again and slide his tongue against it for another taste. 

He’s never eaten pussy. He’s wanted to, watched plenty of holovids of it and jerked off thinking about burying his tongue in a cunt while the Omega or Beta writhed above him, but his helmet had prevented it. Not that it is an issue right now. Hearing your small inhale of surprise, Din dives in once he’s got your legs spread wide, cunt on display for him. 

He’s not good at it. Not from the way that you squirm or giggle, your hand gently trying to guide his overeager mouth to where you needed it and not where he thought he should be. Apparently tonguing your hole was not as effective as it was made to be on those holovids. At least not for the Omega he was trying to pleasure. 

 Still, you didn’t complain. You didn’t stop him. Gasping his designation when he got something right. Making his chest puff up with pride as he repeats that same twist of his tongue or suck of your clit. He’s good with his hands, he knows that. Has fingered plenty of partners to prepare them for his cock or get them off before he fucks them. He knows where to press his fingers, or curl them up inside a cunt without looking. But his mouth on it is a different beast to tame. Like blaster fire, it takes practice and Din is patient when it comes to practice. 

Even as untried and sloppy as he is, soon you are writhing. Legs tossed over his shoulders and heels digging into his back, bucking up into his mouth and pleas pour out of your mouth. Not acting, no, your pheromones are too desperate, too needy to cum for it to be practiced. It makes him groan and growl, ignoring the way that his cock throbs as he concentrates on your clit to make you cum. 

“Alpha, oh fuck Din!” He’s never heard anything better in his entire fucking life than the way you gasp his name. Fingers digging into your hips and he knows he will leave bruises under your skin from where he digs them in, but he doesn’t care. Sucking and slurping on your cunt as if it’s the last in the universe. Right now, it’s the only cunt in the ‘verse to him. He hums, long and low when you fall apart. Pouring into his mouth when he seals his lips over your cunt and drinks deeply. Sucking down the fruit of his labors with all the relish of draining a jorgon fruit of its nectar. Pulling away when you are done trembling and he finds the gland on the inside of your hip, pressing against it and laving it with broad swipes of his tongue. 

“Alpha.” His Alpha purrs inside him, answering the call of your Omega as you reach for him. Sliding up your body and pressing against you. He feels the way that your bod has warmed up. Turning you so that your back is pressed to his chest. Enjoying how easily you move with your limb limp from pleasure and he groans, sliding a hand back down to slip between your thighs. “Want you to sing for ‘mega.” He murmurs in your ear, his cock pressed between your cheeks but still he doesn’t rut against you. There will be plenty of time for that when he is inside you. 

Your eyes flutter, breath catching when his fingers find your clit. This is obviously where his talent lays, two thick fingers curling up inside of you and making you whimper when he presses against that spongy spot while his thumb rubs slow circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

He groans, feeling the tight walls of your cunt yield, giving under the pressure of his digits. Pressing his face into your neck and inhaling your pheromones as he fingers you, working you steadily higher again and groaning at the way that you respond to his touch. He’s had Omegas before, worked them through a heat or only once before, had one during a rut, but you are sublime. Your soft cries accompany the feeling of your blunt nails digging into his forearms. Firmly trapped by his arms, you don’t try to move away from his touch, instead you are rolling your hips down and begging him for more. Craving what he can give you. 

“Cum for me and I’ll give you my cock.” He rasps in your ear, rewarded by the way that your body shudders and the softest keening sound comes out. “I’ll fill you up and knot you.” You moan and his cock twitches at your back. “Pump you full of my cum and keep it in there until the knot goes down.” He knows you have an implant, more importantly he has an implant. He knows that there isn’t a chance of him impregnating you, but still the mere thought of breeding an Omega has his Alpha trying to rush things along. 

You cling to him, exactly what he needs and he pulls you against this chest even more. Pressing his lips to your scent gland at your pulse and gliding his tongue along it, making you whine loudly. Your pheromones change again, soft and sweet and still building even more as your body primes for another orgasm.  

You don’t take long to cum again. He likes that. Likes that your body, your Omega, is so receptive to his touch. Cooing soft words of praise into your ear while his fingers pump into you, urging you closer to falling apart for him again. 

Pride fills him when you cum. Bucking against his hand while your thighs clamp down around his hand, keeping it in place as you roll your hips. “Din, oh fuck, Din…Alpha!” You cry out, letting him smell the pleasure as it courses off of you in thick waves. Feeling it from the way that you soak his fingers and hug them tightly in your body. 

“So good.” He murmurs, feeling almost drunk off the way that you spiraled in your pleasure. The emotions you had been feeling heavy in the air as he soaks up each one and savors it. Lets it furl through his body and ease the Alpha’s needs, even as his body is screaming to claim you, to knot you. 

Normally when he is with a partner, it’s from behind. Because of his helmet, making sure that they are unable to snatch it off his head while he is rocking into them. Or because they liked the fact that a Mandalorian was fucking them. Now, with everything that has changed, he lets go of your clit when you whine, overstimulated and starts to thrash against him to roll you onto your back so he can climb on top of you. 

It’s a different view. Looking down at your wide eyes. Limbs splayed wide and welcoming as he settles between your thighs. The slick from your cunt soaking his cock with the few thrusts he gives through your folds. Feeling how wet he has made you makes him growl. Wrapping his hand around his cock for the first time since he has climbed into your nest, he pumps himself, taking a moment to ease the head through your folds and feel how easily he slips through. 

It’s almost painful how badly he wants to sink into your cunt. To plunge inside your molten velvet walls and batter himself inside you until he’s pouring himself deep, giving you his knot and tying you together for the next few hours. Instead he watches you, for one brief moment indulging in the fantasy that you are his Omega. That you bear his mark and are currently waiting for your Alpha to breed you. 

His cock twitches, making him squeeze the base so he doesn’t cum so quickly. He wants to feel you spasm around him once before his knot pushes inside your tight little cunt and he’s pumping you full of his useless seed for hours. 

When he finally does give in, it’s only because you are begging. Your lips twisted in a pretty pout until he notches his cock and slides smoothly inside. Instantly, his Alpha is more at peace than he has been in days. Instead of pawing and clamoring under his skin like an animal trying to get out, he’s a lothcat in the sun, stretched out and puring. Warmed by the heat of your cunt hugging his cock. 

He fucks steady, sharps snaps of his hips that are equally measured. A tempo that you could count in your head if he wasn’t stealing your breath with every push of his hips and thrust of his cock drilling up into you. Making your Omega preen and purr, crying out for more that has you wrapping your legs around his back and rocking up to meet him. Trying to urge him on. 

“Fuck, ‘mega.” He spits, looking down at your heavy lidded eyes, watching the gasps form on your lips when he spears deep into your cunt again. “Pretty ‘mega, taking my cock. Squeezing me. Doing exactly what your Alpha needs.” You whine, nodding quickly and your hands race up his back with the feeling of your blunt nails scoring his skin lightly, making him shudder.

You like the praise, that much is obvious. The way your cunt squeezes him like a vice when he tells you how good you are is accompanied by the waft of a very pleased Omega drifting off of you. He wonders how many others took the time to feed your Omegas needs. To praise and coo to you while making sure that they keep you filled. Alphas and Omegas both need things from each other, it’s what makes your designations fit perfectly together. He grunts, bracing his arms on his elbows and brushes his thumb across that gland while he watches his cock plunge into your body again and again. 

He feels how connected you are. The air around the two of you is heavy with your mingling scents. Something that pleases his Alpha and makes him ruck his hips forward even faster. “Gonna cum?” He grunts out, watching your teeth bite your bottom lip and watches your hands slide from around him to grasp your tits. Massaging and pinching your stiff nipples with a loud moan. Later on, when his knot is buried inside your tight cunt, he’ll suck on them. Pull you into his lap and tease them with his tongue to find out if you like it as much as he imagines. 

For now, the quick pace of slapping skin has his full attention. Feeling your body draw up tighter as his own starts to prepare. The tingling in the base of his spine is the only reason he doesn’t pause, give his aching thighs a break from where he is rocking over you. He’s close and he knows you are. Angling up into your cunt, he slides a hand between your thighs and presses his thumb against your clit, rubbing quickly as he feels the knot start to form. 

“Cum for me ‘mega.” He begs, desperate for that last flood of slick from your cunt to ease his knot inside you. It’s thick, meant to keep his cock deep inside while his seed takes root. While there is no chance of him impregnating you, He still wants to be buried in your body while he rides out his rut. “Want this pretty little cunt to soak me. Let my knot slip inside you easily.” He knows it won’t be easy, but that slick will make it easier for you to take it. He doesn’t want you to hurt unnecessarily. 

You mewl and buck up under him. Giving him what he wants as your body responds to both his physical manipulation of your body and the thread of command in his order. Heat rushes over his cock, the slippery slick of your cunt flooding it and making him groan. 

His hips stutter, pace getting sloppy as he feels his knot swell, his orgasm starting to crest. Relief and need flooding his own body, making him let go of your gland, your clit and grab your legs. Pushing them wide and thrusting into you harshly, grunting out with every hard push of his hips. So close to his peak that he can taste it. 

He needs this. Breath catching when your hands slide up his arms and rest on his own scent glands, massaging them gently. “Cum Alpha.” You beg breathlessly. “Fill me up, knot me.” Your sweet whimper makes his entire body jerk in response. “I need it.” 

Stars burst behind his eyes, his hands tighten on your body, nearly shouting while his cock drills deep, the already thick knot pushing into your cunt and rapidly filling with blood to lock him inside your passage while he starts to cum. 

White hot pleasure races through his body, making him grunt and hiss every time another pump of his cum floods your womb, filling you up in the most primal way. Twitching, as he empties himself of the first of many orgasms. Grinding  his hips and making sure that he doesn’t pull against your lips with the fat base of his knot. 

Din buries his face against your neck, collapsing against your body and pinning you down. Not that you seem to mind it. Your legs wrap around his thighs again and your hands stroke his back. The loud roar of pleasure that had filled his ears was slowly starting to fade away, making him realize that you are cooing softly to him. Telling him how good his knot feels inside you. Making him hum and press his lips to your pulse again. Sighing softly at the relief that is flooding his body now that his rut is in full swing and he’s buried inside a beautiful, soft, willing Omega. 

The next few hours, the next few days will be spent in this nest. Buried inside you and caring for you. The food and drink will be given to you while he’s still connected to you. Making sure that all of your needs are met and he is looking forward to feeling what a kiss will be like. You have been patient with him so far and he’s grateful that he had decided to come to The Den.

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[thehistoriangirl]

The Tides Have Veiled [Thirteen]

Viktor x Fem!Reader---/Gothic AU/Haunted Sea---2.9K---SFW**

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Synopsis:  Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: There are secrets everywhere: under the sea, in the cliffside, even in your husband's eyes. Perhaps it's time to start unraveling them.

Tags: Strangers to Lovers | Ghosts | Slow Burn | Dark Magic(?) | Some Lore | Mentions of Death and Blood | Attempted Murder (kinda) | Angst |

Taglist: @lunar-monster @local-mr-frog @bittercyder @blissfulip

Thirteen: Waterlogged Past

The waves crashed against the rock, amplified inside to make it sound like a furious beast. An alien, purplish glow bleed from the strange carvings along the humid cave’s walls, morphing your skin into an almost grey-like hue.

Your presence echoed with more reverb with each step you took forward, mind torn between staying away from the strange room in front of you and the pinch of curiosity nagging you to lean closer, to decipher whatever the rock and the sea tried to tell you.

There was no other breathing than yours, no other shadows outlined by the violet beacons dimming and shining in a rhythm similar to the waves that were lapping lazily against the pool carved in the middle of the chamber, whose small, round entrance made seem the water much deeper than it probably was.

Careful not to slip—you didn’t wish to discover the bottom of said aquatic maw—your hands touched the walls as you maneuvered against the circular bridge guiding you toward the end of the chamber, the rock vibrating under your fingertips, smooth and cold. Pulsating as a heart would, almost.

It hummed for you. And part of your foggy mind filled to the brim with grief, shock, and fatigue, considered, if only for a fleeting moment, that you recognized the tune; a melody faded just as the rock had surrendered against the merciless force of time.

You sighed once your feet touched the solid rock bottom of the cave, far away from the pool, the mist escaping from your lips ascending toward the cupule meters above.

It wasn't until then that your mind uttered a dark thought, pushing restlessly all the wonder and curiosity as the words chilled your bones: what if this chamber had been created for witchcraft practices?

What if all those songs were cursed, that the sigils themselves were a forbidden language that you just had willingly walked through? With the threshold broken, would another ghoul start chasing you here, too?

Hugging yourself, you quickly settled against a wall, looking around the circular space only to find it empty, still vibrating and singing, but devoid of life.

Nearby your newly discovered hiding place, the edge of your humid coat brushed another surface, and then you saw it. A group of amorph shadows formed a small mountain range against the bright cave walls.

Piles of books and papers over a rusty metal desk that looked almost crimson once you got close enough. Upon it were messy, blurry newspapers scattered all over the surface, half-rotten, with the pages crusty from the constant humidity of the place, all of them with the same printed font.

Piltover’s Bulletin.

It was a miracle they could survive at the touch of your fingers once you started separating them. Fragments of dates from two centuries ago, pictures of the once blooming town this coastal town was all molded and torn.

Still, some of the past remained in the sentences in which the ink hadn’t run too much.

Sudden hurricane destroys town. […] survivors moved […] ruins between the mud. […] lonely tower standing. […] bankrupt […] Stell family […] survivors. Tropical storm hits Piltover—the end of the mythical town? […] curse? Bad luck? […] displeasing by the offerings […] punishment […] New city called in honor to wipe out town.

Your eyes turned teary, head pounding as the trail of words started to mix one another, too enthralled to look away as the history was unraveling in front of you, despite how incomplete it would be.

Rebuilt of destroyed fishing town: Mayor of Piltover announces […] touristic as it once was […] Mermaid’s Museum […] repair the lighthouse's broken beacon and […] marvels at the gigantic waves […]

Mossy books of yellow pages covered some of the newspapers there, the golden lettering of the covers barely readable. You knew the words would fade under your touch if you ever dared to open them and scan their pages.

So you kept reading the newspapers, taking the books, and putting them aside.

Five Haunted Places You Shouldn’t Visit […] weeping cliff […] grey and rainy […] haunted manor […] the new owner […] dead […] What was Piltover, the ghost town? […] fishing […] Stell’s Canned Company investors […] quickly developing […] and now […] […] “magic” […] mermaids […] wishes […] […] turmoil awoken […] hunting […] mammals […] the museum’s biggest controversy […]

You knew which controversy they were talking about, your mind recalling the tag of the disappeared Mermaid hung on Viktor’s underground office. A century ago, at most, when biologists and other experts were trying to discover if the mermaid specimen was fake.

Many of them had traveled to Piltover the Old to do their own research, only to give up when all they got were an empty sea and rude locals.

But then were the ones who stayed, sending the specimen to the lab, only to find that the body had not been created by snitching different body parts. It wasn’t a made-up chimera. Then, what was it?

The runes on the wall chimed, you know very well what we are.

Only legends. You’ve heard your grandmother telling you the story a thousand times, words spilling from her tired lips and droopy eyes, yet compliant to sate the curiosity of a little child gently tucked in an old, creaky cot.

All started with a greedy fisherman, and all would end with one, too.

You took a step backward, wanting to forget every word you’ve engraved in your mind. All about monsters lurking beneath, every sarcastic, cruel remark outlined with poison from your aunt, the reminder of the ghost at the coast.

You can’t escape from your blood.

You can’t escape from this town. Married to a lie or not, it will disappear like a dream once the sun comes to bleed on the horizon.

The lights inside the cavern pulsated like a heart, from a faint pink to a bright purple passing through white. Salt and humidity seeped into the air, and it was as if you were inside the sea's heart.

“I need to get out of here,” you muttered, biting your lips at the possibility of the ghost advancing further down the coast to get you, hovering at the entrance of the cave.

Stay. Stay inside my heart. My sanctuary.

Behind you, the gentle swaying of the waves broke by a splash.

“Hello?” you said, like an idiot. It was a flicking shadow that created goosebumps up your arms.

A flicking, ghostly, white silhouette of a dorsal spine.

You felt droplets of sweat prickling your forehead, feeling like a cornered animal about to meet the slaughter.

Your steps backtracked until your back touched the wall, feeling a jolt of tingling electricity running down your body. “Ah!” You gasped, jumping away from the walls as the pool down rippled.

You couldn’t know what was worse, the unknown of this creature, or the known monstrosity of the ghost outside. Perhaps both were aiming for the same purpose.

To kill you.

And there was nothing to use as a weapon inside the cave. Without taking your gaze off the water, you looked around for anything that could be useful, but there were only books and papers and pens; the foot of the table was too strong still to try detaching it and use it as a pole.

Tears started falling, hands were all red from the rust.

From pulling, you fell against the ground, making the table collapse atop you.

“Please… please…” you muttered, voice broken and laced with exhaustion. “Please let me alone…”

Part of you wished to give up; what was the point of living like this? Tormented every night and every other day? Living a farse, chasing an impossible dream? You knew you could never fit in the city, it was too bustling and colorful for someone so drained of life, all blue and grey and black now that your soul had absorbed the essence of this sea, this damned sea.

Your prison. Your home. Your everything.

One of the legs of the table gave up with a squeak, the contents on the surface spilling everywhere, with some books sliding toward the descending pool.

From the rippling water, a white tail with purple hues splashed into the surface, pulling the books away.

Your scream left a copper aftertaste in your mouth.

Now I understand my mother, you thought, your frantic breathing becoming sobs that ripped out your heart. Why did she choose this way of ending her life—because there was no other way.

It felt suffocating, the salty air and the thick humidity, the dizzying light and the soft texture of the moss, the rippling of the water and the roaring of the sea outside, the lament of the cliff and the screams of your aunt, the horrifying apparitions.

You swung the table leg, making the thick air whistle with the movement. From all the legends, mermaids were as alluring as they were mortal, created so delicately like coral barriers, and just as ancient.

Perhaps it was its lair, perhaps it was a trap you’ve fallen into. Anyway, you were not going to give up so easily.

Getting near the edge of the rock, you gazed down at the pool of inky black water, where you felt something gazing back.

Your tears ran down your cheeks, dripping in solitary drops down the ocean water, all salty as if they had belonged to it since the beginning.

Stay. Stay inside my heart. My sanctuary. The runes sang.

A siren’s melody.

Was this the so-called melody? Conveying everything you wished to have.

Rolling to lay on your back, you looked at the ceiling as if it were a starry sky, a maniac smile splitting your face once the laughter started bubbling up your throat.

A whispery voice flowed inside the cavern like a lullaby.

“Get out and face me!” you screamed, sight blurred by tears, eyes getting close once your body has given up for today. “Take me now if that’s what you’re going to do! I’m done! I’m… I’m so scared. And so, so tired… Please…”

Stay. Stay inside my heart. My sanctuary.

Stay. Stay inside my heart. My sanctuary.

The song filled you in and out; warming the void you had for heart. It felt familiar, like the way a blanket would cover you once the rain came, the company of another body reassuring you that everything would be alright, no matter what.

My sanctuary. My sanctuary. My sanctuary. My sanctuary. Our sanctuary.

Our sanctuary. Don’t you remember?

A dream built in silver grey and pale blue; the storm covering the trails of sunshine midwinter. Here, the water wasn’t bottomless black, but instead a murky green, algae swept in gentle sways.

Yet, you kept on wading. Swimming. But the coast was nowhere to be found, water conquering the horizon where the silver of the sky dipped in green. A loop carved in agony, the cold gnawing at your limbs until the ache was but a numb ghost breathing in the shell of your ear.

A familiar, feminine voice carried by the wind, coming from somewhere on the horizon.

“Please don’t do this! Please!”

Frowning, your arms cut through the water, the sound growing with each wade, the wish to give up at the sight of your fingertips turning blue.

Your lungs burned, hot pants rising and quickly lost against the pale sky and the tide that grew restless, furious. From murky green to unmistakable brown.

“You don’t have to obey him! Please, have mercy!”

It was the sudden brush of something against your leg, hollow and smooth—no, not hollow, bloated.

Bodies. Bilis raised in your throat, eyes tearing as you made your wave toward the coast.

Between the muddy water, you started to see fragments of rubble floating aimlessly. Wood and branches scratching your body with the crescent waves, torn cloth starting to submerge to be lost forever in the abyss.

Over the horizon, the grey got interrupted by the irregular edge of a cliff; black with mud coming from the nearby forest, white and pink where the rock had given up against the water.

Not any cliff—it was the cliff, with the steps newly carved into the stone, the hill much shorter now that the beach was covered in water, half the steps drowned, covered in death and decay. But the lighthouse remained, brightly painted with red and white. Though you were sure the multiple clutter of marks scratched on the rock wasn't.

You advanced toward the cliff wishing to reach your resting destination, your eyes caught a glimpse of the emptiness in front of the lighthouse.

There where the house once stood was only a hole in the ground.

A grave.

As on cue, the cries of the cliff started, much closer and solid like a heartbreak, a reminiscence of those screamed by your aunt at the funeral of your uncle. Cries death had planted behind its reaping.

Once you reached the rock, your nails scratched the mud off the slippery surface, trying to find a purchase to leap out of the freezing water.

Someone was atop the cliff.

“Vik…tor?” you said, voice hoarse.

It wasn't him, the sound of the wet dress was all too familiar, too dreaded.

“Look what have you done, stupid girl,” the ghostly woman said, leaning forward to settle her face right in front of you, taking in the rotten pale flesh covered with barnacles and algae, eyes replaced by holes, a smile too wide there where her lips had disappeared once devoured by fish. "It'll be better once all this ends with you.”

She lifted her hunting knife, guilt, and horror knotted in your stomach like an anchor that kept you in place.

“Pl-please…” you tried to utter.

The woman sneered. “There is no mercy for monsters like you.”

The metal sang on its descent toward your throat, yet the burning sensation of your blood dripping out never came.

Wet tendrils of the monster conjured by your aunt tugged at your ankles still covered in water. They scratched you against the rock and the surface of the sand when started getting down toward the depths.

The woman shrieked; her knife covered with a streak of crimson. Had she hurt you?

From under the water, a pair of eyes shone.

Once and again and again, calling your name.

“Miss! Miss! Please wake up!”

Your eyes opened, and a flash of blinding sunlight hit your face. Groaning, your hands covered your eyes, the smell of salt and humidity overwhelming. Pulling away, you noticed the red tips of your now uneven fingernails.

Horrified, you felt your hair tangled with the motions of the waves, the soft sand curving under to mold your body.

“Miss! Miss! Oh, thanks the heavens!” Viktor pressed your shoulders, his golden eyes two additional suns shining upon you. His thick eyebrows furrowed, gaze softening in relief once you looked back at him. “Are you feeling alright? Do you need something? I should've brought you some water—"

“Viktor?” you muttered, dirty hands reaching to cup his face, feeling the outline of his cheekbones. “Is this real?”

He smiled, the corner of his lips brushing your fingers.

“Yes. I assure you.” His warm digits intertwined with yours, pulling them away to draw soothing circles over your knuckles. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

With one hand, he helped you sit, brushing the soaked hair off your forehead.

“What happened?” you said, holding onto his arms. “Where… where is the cave?”

“The cave?” He asked, eyes wide open.

You pointed your finger toward the side of the cliff. “There! There’s a hole there that conducts to a cavern.” Tugging at his shirt all wet and wrinkly, you tried to get on your wobbly feet. “I’ll show you. Let’s go!”

“You should rest,” Viktor muttered. “I believe you hit your head with a rock when you were walking along the beach.”

“No, no, n-no… I saw it! I promise I saw it! There was a woman…” You gasped, trembling from both your soaked clothes and the terror running down your spine. “A woman… my mom?” Thick saliva was painful to swallow. “My mother tried to kill me.”

Viktor looked horrified and confused, his naturally pale skin even more drained of color. “What?” His hands palmed down the length of your arms, looking for any signs of injury besides your broken nails. “Let me get you to the hospital.”

You stopped, brushing his hands away. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“No, it’s not that…” Viktor started, his voice fading while the words he tried to say escaped his mind. Finally, he sighed. “I… I think we committed a mistake.”

“What?” Your heartbeat picked up, almost at the edge of falling. “What do you mean?”

Viktor looked away, to where his luggage lay over the sand.

“I… I think I shouldn’t have gotten you inside this whole…ruse.” I shouldn’t have married you, hung in the silence between you.

You felt cold, seeking his gaze and finding only the sun starting to be born again.

What to say? When it was all but real, you weren’t even sure if you had the right to seek an explanation, much less of complaining.

“Do you regret it, then?” you whispered, trying to conceal the hurt in your tone.

With a knot in your throat, you took in the scenery of the beach around you, so similar and at the same time so strange from the one of the dream. Part of you couldn't stop thinking if those ruins and bodies still lay somewhere in the marine soil and if their souls were the ones lamenting at night.

“I do.”

What to believe when everything had become a nightmare?

“I regret it, too,” you said, seeking only to deliver an ounce of your pity revenge.

Armed by the overwhelming feelings about to tip over the edge of your control, you seized your hands in fists and stood up; ignoring the burning sensation of your feet with each step you took.

Viktor called your name as you started climbing toward the lighthouse, no ‘Miss’, detached for any overthought, distancing politeness.

But you keep on climbing because you know you will rectify your lie as soon as you look back.

Perhaps you’ve caught the dark hue in his golden eyes then.

#viktor x reader #arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #arcane fanfic #viktor x you #arcane viktor x you #viktor arcane x you #arcane viktor x fem! reader #viktor arcane x f!reader #arcane x female reader

[blytzea]

In Bleckron's name, I give tidings to you xenos. I am Consul Varom of the Blytzea Republic. I speak for the Blyton, the children of Bleckron.

When the public was first drenched in wave after wave of images of your disgusting forms, there were demands to make an effort to submerge ourselves in comms darkness, prevent first contact, to hide ourselves from you.

And by Bleckron, we did, for a time. But all the while, we've been watching you, and though you throw yourselves into barbarism, with constant bickering, wars, and self destruction. You've shown you're capable of some good, even if you could do better. Perhaps you can do better with our oversight, by Bleckron's cosmic tail.

That being said, we've seen enough to be willing to reach out, as you do have one thing we want. Trade. We will automatically accept reasonable trade deals with anyone - you're all the same to us. So, by Bleckron's shiny maw, you xenos may have safe harbour in our star ports. That is so long as you keep your repulsive forms away from our waters, and come with good intent to trade, and for Bleckron's sake, you don't bring your barbarism with you or interfere in our politics.

For Bleckron!

#peritainia #stellaris rp #stellaris

[hxdonist]

.::. I AM THAT I AM .::. ikarus ito

Citizen Profile Loading. . .

profile loaded. ERROR CODE 1F1N1T3FUN: Some Data Expunged.

.::. A SICKNESS UNDEFINED .::. basics.

NAME: IKARUS CAELUM ITO ALIASES: IK, IKKA, THE FOX OF EIGHT EYES, 1NF1N1T3FUN AGE: THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OLD. [JANUARY 17TH] GENDER/PRONOUNS: CIS MAN HE/HIM SEXUALITY: PANSEXUAL // DEMIROMANTIC HUMAN // HOST: HUMAN OCCUPATION: DATA EXPUNGED - - - as far as you need to know, I am a friend. A netrunner and a braintrip cutter of the...shady variety. AFFILIATIONS: NANO ZILLA. And any gang, corp, or solo with the balls to think they can run with me.

.::. IT'S MY KINGDOM COME .::. going deeper.

PERSONALITY: CHARMING TO A FAULT, IKARUS DESIRES ONLY TO CORRECT WHAT HE PERCIEVES AS 'SOCIETAL WRONGS.' WHILE HIS BANNER SEEMS AT FIRST SOMETHING WORTH WORKING BENEATH HIS METHODS ARE MANIPULATIVE MUCH LIKE THE MAN HIMSELF. A HEDON WITHOUT CARE FOR THE 'WAY THINGS HAVE ALWAYS BEEN' HE IS A GLUTTON FOR ATTENTION, POWER, SEX, DRUGS- ANYTHING THAT MAY FIRE THE SYNAPSE REQUIRED FOR PLEASURE- AND RIPS THROUGH THE THINGS THAT PLEASE OR ANGER HIM LIKE A MALICIOUS VIRUS WITHOUT DIFFERENTIATING WHICH IS WHICH. SELF-ASSURED TO THE POINT OF BEING COCKY TO THE EYES OF SOME, IKARUS' SKILLS ARE RARELY CALLED INTO QUESTION, AND HE PREFERS IT THAT WAY, HE WILL ONLY STAND FOR THE BEST IN HIS RANKS, SOURCING NEW MEMBERS THROUGH REGULAR 'TESTS' DEPLOYED ON THE NET BY 'THE FOX OF EIGHT EYES' AND REJECTING ANY WHO FALL SHORT OF STANDARD. DESPITE THIS, HE IS LOYAL TO THOSE WHO EARN IT, A DOGGED, STRONG-WILLED FRIEND TO HAVE IN ONE'S CORNER, DESPITE BEING A RATHER SLIPPERY ASSOCIATE IN ANYTHING TO DO WITH POWER.

AESTHETIC: WIRES COILING AND BLACK, BOUND LIKE CHAINS TO THE NET; ALIVE IN CODE || A FOX WITH TOO MANY EYES AND BROKEN, SPIDERING LIMBS. IT BECKONS TO YOU IN THE DARKNESS. || STATIC SOAKED SCREENS FROM YEARS PAST WATCHING WITH INTENT; THE GHOSTS OF WHAT WE WERE. || A REFINED BLACK SUIT SLICKED WITH BLOOD- UNBOTHERED YOU LIGHT UP A CIGARETTE- JUST ANOTHER NIGHT IN THE CITY.

KNOWN CYBERWARE: NEURAL UPLINK PORT STANDARD IN NETRUNNERS. HEADWARE RIG USED FOR ON-THE-FLY HACKING. SINGULAR PROSTHETIC ARM, MATTE BLACK CARBON AND RED LIGHTING ARRAY. IMPLANTED WEAPONRY LIKELY CONTAINI- DATA CORRUPTED. ERROR CODE: 2NOSY;)

HISTORY: CORRUPTED DATA RESTORED. BACKUP DRIVE CREATED. File Attached: FoxOfEightEyes.txt [TRIGGER WARNINGS: CHILD ABUSE, ANIMAL DEATH] [Mobile version of bio available in a google doc HERE] [hint: use the forcecode to skip the puzzle.]

.::. FROTHING AT THE MAW .::. connections.

CAT TO MOUSE; FOX IN YOUR HENHOUSE: The eponymous 'predator and prey' relationship- but who's who when the chips fall? Be you a Corpo burned by Nano Zilla, a gang member too foolish to determine you were being swindled before it happened, or even a Cowboy with your eyes on a pricy take- 1NF1N1T3FUN welcomes your attempts on his life- and recommends you come prepared.

FOLLOW THE WHITE RABBIT: An understudy/mentor relationship- a recently welcomed netrunner into the embrace of Nano Zilla and their base made in Dreamland, you followed the Fox of Eight Eyes and found its den to rest in the retrofitted depths of a once-bustling theme park; the skeleton of whimsy and fun now inhabited by the kind of people who treat the net as their playground. Ikarus only welcomes the best into his family, those willing to shirk the existing rules and demands of corporations and the government to seek building something greater- through technological subterfuge- he'll take you under wax wings, teach you to wind among the wires with the best of them- just make sure you know exactly what that means, when the time comes.

BITTERLOVER.EXE: The ever-present exes connection. Ikarus is a different man, in love. Dedicated to ideals and the ever-elusive 'better' his goals seem lofty- but oh, he always seemed to have time for you, and a carbon-steel fist that drives his crew so firmly was always soft in the quiet of a tiny apartment- but that was then. It's hard to recognize him now- you can't imagine you want to, because when push came to shove- Ikarus chose power over you. This is a connection for an ex who dated Ikarus recently, while he's headed and operated with Nano Zilla as an active anarchist/insurrectionist.

ISANYONEUP.MP4: You need help sourcing an illegal or otherwise damaging to your reputation braintrip and with some digging- you've found the editor who spun it. Sure, he wasn't the gunman that left your loved one dead in the dirt- wasn't the bastard who filmed the two of you having sex and sold it off after- but he knows who was, picking around in the BT with his editing software- he's said he'll help you, for a price- are you brave enough to take that offer?

ADDITIONAL CONNECTIONS

Childhood friends

Exes (younger than 19 years old/schoolkid ages)

Former coworkers (Ex Gestalt Bureau Corpo, abandoned his position at 23.)

Fellow Nano Zilla netrunners who work for/under him

corpos/ceos/high ranking officials he's got existing dirt on

Braintrip recorders/sellers who use his services as an editor

regular hookups

literally anything I'll take it all babyyyyyy

#anarchicintro. #ikarus.info #ikarus.img #icarus.hc #ikarus.aes #ikarus.mp3

[es46]

False-head type monsters are a favourite of mine, so a quick sketch for one such concept. The hood is bigger than depicted. - KOBADRA Title - Dragontail snake Monster class - Snake wyvern Known locales - Fringes of volcanic regions, miasmic zones Element/ailment - Confusion + Dragon Elemental weakness - Ice (3), Dragon (3), Water (2), Thunder (1), Fire (0) Ailment weakness - Poison (2), Stun (1), Blast (1), Paralysis (1), Sleep (1) Kobadra is a snake wyvern that is usually found on the fringes of volcanic regions, uniquely adapted to deal with toxic gases and zones of miasmic residue. As its title suggests, Kobadra is distinguished by the false head upon its tail that resembles a dragon's maw. The black-purple scales and iridescent hood of the snake wyvern are oddly beautiful, but it appears truly intimidating to most other monsters with its false dragon head. Kobadra is a scavenger whose strategy revolves around scaring other monsters away from their kills. The snake wyvern meticulously searches for other carnivores to steal from, supplementing its diet with dragonfell berries or minerals forced upwards by subterranean activity. Kobadra very rarely hunts directly, and even then only small monsters it can easily overpower. This opportunist lifestyle actually makes Kobadra quite dangerous to humans, as it may perceive them as easy meals. Fortunately, the snake wyvern can be deterred from attack by use of flash or sonic bombs, convincing it that humans are too troublesome to prey on. The key to Kobadra's imposing reputation is the combination of its false dragon head and the iridescent membrane of its hood. The snake wyvern confronts other monsters with both, disorientating rivals and victims alike by alternating attack patterns. The false head is heavy, effective as a cudgel, and specialised ports on its tip emit dragon energy in burning clouds. The hood can display luminescent patterns, disorientating observers and invoking Confusion. Enemies attempt to attack the tail may be met by a surprise attack from its fangs and claws. In turn, should they focus on Kobadra's head, they can be caught out by blows and blasts of the false dragon. Researchers have not yet determined how Kobadra employs dragon energy without exhibiting the same aggression as the like of Deviljho or Ebony Odogaron; it is believed the quality of its energy is less powerful, or its supplements of dragonfell berries and minerals help maintain its coherence. Surprisingly, given dragon-element monsters are usually fiercely territorial, Kobadra is cordial towards its own kind. Females (distinguished by their greater size and bolder colours) establish territories where dragonfell berries and minerals are abundant, which they share with several males; territorial disputes with other females are settled by display, not violence. Throughout most of her life, the dominant female produces only sons, who leave for new grounds when mature. Past a certain point in age, the female then produces daughters, who compete to succeed their mother and oust their siblings and fathers, forming a fresh clan with new arriving males. Kobadra is a respectably powerful monster wherever it lurks (Low Rank - 4, High/Master Rank - 3) and challenges hunters to test their cunning. Hunters must avoid fixating on one end of the snake wyvern lest they be baited into a surprise attack from the other. The use of traps is advised, temporarily stymying the snake wyvern's movement and making it vulnerable to attack. As Kobadra will come to their own kind's aid, hunters must be sure to isolate the target from its clan.

Its skill in intimidation and confusion means Kobadra usually deters attack from stronger carnivores or aggressive herbivores. It has few natural enemies beyond elder dragons, even if it is not necessarily as strong as the likes of Rathalos. However, Kobadra does have a nemesis in the form of Zykitin Cerra, a powerful neopteran who covets the snake wyvern's dragonfell berries. Zykitin Cerra is resistant to dragon energy and not easily fooled by displays, making it well-suited to overpowering the snake wyvern. - Thank you for reading and take care.

#snake wyvern #wyvern #fanart #monster hunter #monochrome #sketch #serpent

[desertleviathan]

I feel like writing some short fiction about one of my FFXIV characters, but I don't know who it will be about. So I'm going to put it to you. Which member of the Amaranthine Maw pirate crew should I give a few dozen paragraphs to? Brief descriptions, then a poll to follow after the cut:

1.) Captain Siege Zabac (Hyur Highlander Male) is the Warrior of Light in this canon, and would much rather be fishing, cooking, and feeding as many people as possible with what he has fished/cooked than fighting stuff all the time, but he is a once-in-a-generation tactical genius and doesn't see himself getting out of the World Saving Hero business unless it's in a coffin.

2.) First Mate R'khsana Jannat (Miqo'te Seeker of the Sun Female) is the granddaughter of Siege's predecessor as captain, was literally born on a pirate ship, and may be the best sailor in the world. But she's like 23 so she has to wait her turn to be Captian, like the ambitious catgirl Riker to Siege's Picard.

3.) Quartermaster Griever Strzygasch (Hrothgar Lost Male) is so damn old (by the life expectancy of pirates anyway), he really should retire and take it easy somewhere. But nobody else on this crew is any good with money or long term planning, and he owes the captain his life a dozen times over, and anyway what would he even do in retirement? Better to die in a way people will tell stories about!

4.) Master-at-arms Auberont Gevaudan (Elezen Duskwight Male) is the heir to the Gelmorran royal line, but his only inheritance is a terrible dark wrath that he must be careful to only let out in battle with enemies who deserve annihilation. Other than that he's a very chill guy, the sort who seems to be on a first-name basis with the staff of every tavern, brothel, and gambling hall in every port town on the star.

5.) Chaplain Penitent Cormorant (Roegadyn Hellsguard Female) is a professional wrangler of spiritual and aetheric anomalies, an essential role on a ship in a world where all those nautical superstitions are very provably real. She's very good at what she does, and holds those around her to comparable expectations of performance. She's also the Captain's ex-wife. Nobody who knows that story is willing to talk, and nobody who doesn't know is brave enough to ask.

6.) Engineer Lockpix Burglebanks (Lalafell Dunesfolk Male, Goblin by adoption) is a former member of a notorious band of thieves, who the Captain pulled some strings to get out of prison. If he was willing to claim his birth identity there would be a considerable inheritance waiting for him, but he doesn't burgle and/or buccaneer for profit, he does it for the challenge.

7.) Navigator Usul Haragin (Au Ra Xaela Male) is weird even by the standards of his notoriously eccentric people, a visionary and mystic who followed an oracular dream across the sea to join this crew, and now patiently waits for the machinations of destiny to reveal why it was necessary for him to leave his clan and throw in with a bunch of rowdy corsairs.

8.) Surgeon Pandora Jarnvidr (Viera Rava Female) is not a member of this crew, she is a civilian passenger here by invitation of the Captain to pursue her own medical research... which conveniently aligns with how often a bunch of Sky Pirates incur novel wounds for her to examine. She is over 300 years old, and the only thing she really cares about any more is leaving a lasting contribution to medical research. But she is also the last surviving widow of the old captain, R'kshasa Nunh, and may feel some obligation to his successors.

#ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14 #siege zabac #griever strzygasch #lockpix burglebanks #pandora jarnvidr #penitent cormorant #r'khsana jannat #usul haragin #auberont gevaudan #the Amaranthine Maw

[ms-scarletwings]

Every Dredge Aberration (2023), Part 4

Cleft Mouth Shark

Encyclopedia #97

Aberrant form of Blacktip reef shark

Description:

A large body bisected by an enormous, grinning maw. Teeth stretch down forever into the blackness of its large gullet.

Comment: The last, and maybe most remembered of The Marrow's warped fish. Seriously, I stumbled into a bounty of fanart specifically about this jacked up, faceless shark. I belove it the same. Already we have seen two frequented themes in the aberrant line- beings transformed wholly for the purpose of creating and carrying eldritch life, and as so iconized by the above fella, those who instead now only live to consume other life. Early gamers keep their fingers crossed for one of these valuable brutes.

How to catch: Early investment into researching heavier fishing equipment and careful timing will be the friend of those hunting after this abomination. Not for the faint among those just starting out, as black tip reef sharks only appear at night in oceanic water. This means being farther away from the starting port and fishing in the thick of the fog. Keep wary that you don't pull up your catch only to lose it overboard in a collision with a tricky rock, or an assault from the night angler. Can be trawl netted.

Cerebral Crab

Encyclopedia #98

Aberrant form of common crab

Description:

A turquoise mass swells from within this small crab. The growth pulses, quickening in the light of the sun.

Comment: Would it be to awry of me to say that there's something almost... cute about the look of this scuttler? I find it difficult to not think there would be strange beauty in the sight of the island sands at night, pulsing and peppered with a gathering of these crabs' light, like jewels beneath the foam. I can at least be sure that their hue is enamoring once smeared across the hull of my boat. This is one of two mutants you must bring to the painter in Little Marrow to unlock the sharp mint pigments to customize with.

How to catch: As the name would suggest, this animal can only be harvested with patience and the use of a crab pot. Aim for a depth below 25 meters, such as close to, or even within the Greater Marrow harbor.

Malignant Pincer

Encyclopedia #99

Aberrant form of fiddler crab

Description:

Teal tumours secrete a slimy substance over cracks and joints. Its massive claw shudders as it fights for control.

Comment: Now THIS victim's predicament actually lends some fascinating implications about what ails the previous. These pustules look so alike to the same as the common crab's infection in both shape and color that I will go on a limb and decide that the same entity finds a host in either species. The "cerebral" part of the former's name indicates that this mass is in fact a brain of its own, with its own imperatives and will that overrides the poor vessel's. Because the infection has decided to root within the fiddler crab's claw, rather than its head, the animal's original brain has remained intact, despite everything. The body survives to stage a losing battle between nature and another's unknowable plan.

How to catch: They generally share roaming space with the common crabs of The Marrows, albeit preferring slightly shallower water, under a mere 10 meters to be exact. Due to their size, the basic crab pot can only hold one of them at a time, so, barring a speedrun to acquire the maw of the Deep, check the traps frequently if you are looking to snag one of these in the early game. I never found error in placing the pots right next to the Marrow docks for convenience. Bring one of these to the painter along with the cerebral crab to unlock the sharp mint paint for your ship.

Gnashing Perch

Encyclopedia #100

Aberrant form of oceanic perch

Description:

Eyeless and mindless. Driven only by the desire to consume. A purpose satiated many times over.

Comment: By now we’ve already seen plenty of fish that would fit that description, but that doesn’t make it any less suited for this example here. While there was no included mention of the perch’s spines here, I want to assume they’ve only been made more precariously jagged and sturdy.

How to catch: A daytime, coastal kind around the Gale Cliffs. Both the aberrant breed and the typical perch have blissfully modest space needs in both the ship’s cargo hold and the trawl net.

Flayed Mackerel

Encyclopedia #101

Aberrant form of tiger mackerel

Description:

Rended flesh with muscle and bone exposed. This gory mess of a fish can't have lived like this for long.

Comment: I see two possible stories told here. The first is that the evil essence afoot is what mutilated this mackerel. The second is that the specimen was actually flayed by natural means, and this infection is what allowed it to live in spite of its injuries.

How to catch: This is another coastal swimmer in range of the Gale Cliffs. Haul or trawl during daytime hours.

Bearded Mackerel

Encyclopedia #102

Aberrant form of tiger mackerel

Description:

The wispy tendrils sprouting from its mouth and flanks continue to writhe long after the fish has stopped flailing.

Comment: well, well well! It took us long enough to come to bountiful barbels. You haven’t truly flattered the spirit of lovecraftian fiction until you have attached tentacles onto flesh where they don’t belong, and in large numbers.

How to catch: ^^^

#dredge #dredge game #aberrant fish #fish horror #grotesque fish #is it just me #or do the crabs on this one kinda give paras and parasect vibes

[captainkurosolaire]

X3 ~ Deathly Design

Reference ~ Unfortunate Future ~ ♪"Unbroken"♪

 Upon a dry-desolate land field of sands. A destroyed-convoy caravan left a smoke-signal upon the skies torched. Scattered around could only be explained as a massacre. Ruins, mangled, battered, broken cadavers of crimson-wearers.

Said their red-they famously wore represented the blood they sacrificed or had spilled. Trying to play honor among fellows. Putrid, disgusting… When did it happen? When did pirates become a bunch of soft-heart; little bitches? Care about others outside their Crews. Facade, another lie. Maelstrom sells others' beliefs; they're what Rules the Seas. Taking over-every route. Policing and enforcing marine-law. Creating a hub that’s only known-remaining.  How many Beast Tribes, they chase out of their territories? How many walls were made against nature? How many-times, they had to get on their knees, and got bailed out by a Warrior who had no reason to be involved. Calling themselves pirates, poor imitations. Only vigil remaining of pirates were the ones who were chased out, those who had semblance of identity, voices too distinguished, still-carry. 

Embers were being snuffed out, their crews, desires of freedom, stomped out prematurely, eaten and spit down their throat, and then told to say, thank-you. Those-who governed with invincible numbers and that fleet, was all they had. Revenge consumed one man. Who carried the burden, weight, of his dying breed of people, a self-inflicted-martyr. Pressure, twists like a knife, darkens a soul. Shouldering the responsibility of bygone-eras. He once reigned with gallantry. Individual-rogue was dead. Wishful thinking to hope this was a cruel-dystopian-joke, future’s roots finally known. 

Good-riddance. This manipulated realm would rejoice their thanks in time, they’d acknowledge and revere him. While he conquered them all for their benefits, because no-one else was capable.

All those left skewed, left to the afterlife, to be absorbed into the soils and amount to actually something, and attained freedom. If they-were actual pirates. He’ll be waiting for their appreciation in the Seven Hells, expectantly. Bloodstain leather-studded boots walked away from the scene. Mantled-cloaked, holding himself like some prestigious, acclaimed pirate-king, dreadful-aura surrounded him. Behind a land-slide rock, sweat profusely leaked from a leg-shaken Maelstrom; yuck a survivor. Cowardice behavior showing their genuine-hide, self-preservation. Unfortunately this poor-sod, encountered this individual-once. Newly pure-destructiveness wasn’t seen before. His eyes-bulged, tears ruined his face, from a snot weeping nose. Hurt people,           Hurt people. All you must know.

Those blonde brows-angered together, his fellows with their entrails what-was-left of them, was upon his clothes. Looks like they got some-richer texture on their coat. Revenge was infectious like a poison-droplet; it could taint a whole barrel. That scoundrel… N-No-monster had to be stopped! This wasn’t the first-instance. Random locations of Maelstrom being deployed supposed to deliver or pick-up rations or goods, were being chosen, tactically. Small-ports, barely guarded, were being butchered, harvested. Malice did this for sport. Bilge-water rats squeaking pests amongst his lion den. Take away duty and employment expected from trade-deals. You risk clients and employers-ire, you create severe rifts. Costing a whole City-State ton not just gil, but reputation. He couldn’t oppose them directly in the open-waters. He could drain them of resources, create panics. Make a civilization of needy-greedy denizens start growing irate. Maybe put some teeth-back in their maws. A rifle was aimed shaken but nerves fought until steeled thinking of his kindred. The-kid had one-shot. Think a Miqo’te with trained senses didn’t hear, smell, that filth in that-rubble? He swung-back preemptively and the bullet-clanked against a plated-bracer worn on his wrists. Deflecting and taking rotation, golden-eyes-staring into the soul. Foul presence of dominance. Unbridled walking akin to tyrannical bosses. He owned this world and fucked it, You-forget how small it was? We trampled on it instinctively after-all, Our true-purpose. Amusement came, a smile, and shake of his head. “Want ta’ die, boy? I’ll get you t’ live-eternally.” Voice carried bass. Authority, sheer-certainty. For he alone, Him alone is believed, Necessary.

“Good-jewelry can b’ made. Think, I’ll cut yer toes, fingers off and wear em’ as a bone brooch. I’ll gouge-an eye, feast upon it while your other is left t’ witness. I’ll keep you breathing-barely functioning until I choose. To give ye freedom. We’ll see, if you’ve got in-fact a spine and strangle-it around that pretty-neck like a noose. Like you hang my condemened people, every’ Sun' while getting fancy promotions and bein' publicly applauded.” Verbal painting ran through the mind of his opposition, on-a-wrong side of misfortune-law, visualizing, he felt his entire-being on a different plane altogether, happened. Blackbeard took the slowest-stride, heavy-stepping on soils. The lad-of-red was devoured long ago, by fear. Piss soiled his pants, until hysteria roared out and screamed, horror. “W-w-why us! Why us?!” He needed to reload his rifle. Couldn't find-strength like his digits-were already gone. This pirate’s-dreadful Presence, was… unfathomable wicked.

Playful-remorse showed on the Seeker. “Mommy-send you out here to die? Cruel of her yet not unexpected. Wanna-know why? Cause I can.” Speaking of the ill Admiral Merlwyb, nobody remained holding balls left to stand against her. She collected them in her purse. A purest savagery reason, a Scourge no-doubt about it had become the very-thing he once, paraded around-to-exterminate. A chilling-grin forebode on that visage. Pirate-stopped in his tracks letting-confusion and relief travel in his victim. An-attack was already made. Living-animated chains from his sheathed scimitar’s hilt had conceal, snaking around his leg burrowing in the sands.              Creeping until jailing his prey to his shackled-fate.

“Play pirate. Get th’ real-deal’s attention. I’ll b’ nice… Unlike you all-did with courtesy, bringing the severed-head of my wife, sayin’ ye found her. Maybe, I’ll do that with you. Leave you as a parting-gift on the Admiral’s desk, Starlight is comin’ around th’ corner. Get a little-sweet on her.” Vengeance, irrational-rage, vile revenge had finally-claimed the-once heroic pirate to act on bottled-past. “I-I-I Didn’t do that terrible act, I swear!” He proclaimed trying to run away, his feet-entangled, chain already taking his ankle, tripping up on his own feeble-true design finally shown. Those little-badges worn, ranks, they only account so far. Then when you’re left without numbers, bodies, you’re nothing more than another’s, kill count. Tsking, disappointing from his pursing-lips. “O’ poor-lost-soul so unguided, I’ll ferry ye’ home... You wear that-crest. Collective-n-crew, a walking ship, ye-live like a hivemind donning your crimson uniforms. Wanna carry the-others blood so badly, fine. I’ll paint that symbol. There’s a sea-that-finally swallows ye’ all.�� There was no-deterring this mindset. Black-clad Captain, was overwhelmingly taken by murder on the mind. Had become-his-recent favorite vice.

The victimized-man crawled trying to scurry but the predator enacted haste for execution. As he neared-closer, in the clouds-roaring a draconian-cry shrieked. Snowflakes descend below-staining, unimpressive in Blackguard’s dismay.

Newly brandished, foiled Noble Hero, of the historical past had come to save days. Opposing forces from several-fates yet again, staring to beholden gaze.                          Piercing Blues to Unyielding Golds. A shining-pillar white knight, once thought dead, had resurrected with redeeming qualities and elegance, pristine. Once former being a spitting-image of Captain.  Now they’ve flipped, again.

Would’ve and should’ve stayed that dead, a pirate’s desire remained. A cold-unforgiving scowl gave rise to this incomplete-world, a Blackest Sun heralding as a Champion. Wasn’t going to forgive this transgression ruining spoils.

Meet The Sworn.

Ft. @lordshiroelune

#reader discretion advised #Extra-credit #ffxivwrite2023 #FFXIVWrite #tales of the goldbrand #creative writing #seeker of the sun #keeper of the moon #maelstrom #Black Chapters #Forever Destined #Creative Writing #-captain kuro solaire